Right in front of you stands the Clock Tower, a tall, narrow stone tower with a battlemented roof and a large clock face on its southern side-you can’t miss it, just look up and spot the tower with weathered flint walls and sharp, angular corners amid the surrounding shops.
Welcome to the Clock Tower, St Albans! Now, don’t be fooled-this isn’t just a fancy stone box with a clock stuck on top. You’re standing next to England’s only remaining medieval town belfry, built in the early 1400s by some rather rebellious locals who didn’t fancy letting the great Abbey decide when everyone should wake up, work, or wrap things up for the night. Imagine back then, the Abbey’s bells ruled the roost, but the merchants wanted some control over their own lives… and their own time! So, up shot this five-story high tower, built by Thomas Wolvey-a royal mason with a nose for a protest. It rises 64 feet into the air, each floor just a bit smaller than the one below, with strange gargoyles giving you the stink eye from every corner of its roof.
Let’s go back in time for a second: the clatter of chisels, the scrape of stone being hauled, the freezing winter air biting against the flint as the last blocks went in between 1403 and 1412, most likely finished by 1405. The builders intentionally put this tower on higher ground than the Abbey, facing it down squarely-like two rivals in a staring contest. And it wasn’t just any old spot, either. The tower sits close to where the grand Eleanor cross once stood-a marker commissioned by King Edward I for his beloved Queen Eleanor, whose funeral procession stopped here in 1291. That cross was knocked about during the Civil War and later swapped out for market buildings, a town pump, and even a grand old drinking fountain, all gone now-hard to keep up with the street furniture around here, really!
The exterior is clad in rough flint which catches the winter sun, with elegant freestone corners and a stone string marking every floor. You’ll spot the arches and wide windows all along the bottom, and high up, those clock faces-one historic clue after another. Now, rumor has it the first merchant to suggest building this tower probably had trouble waking up for market. Speaking of markets, the clock tower’s bells weren’t just for show. The smaller Market Bell was used to tell non-freemen when trading could start-if you weren’t a freeman, you had to hang about until 10 a.m. before you could even open your stall. No sneaky early-bird specials here! The bell reads, “Thomas Robins, Mayor of St Albans, 1729,” and was cast by Richard Phelps-a man who must’ve loved making bells, because he did eight more for St Peter’s church just along the way. The Market Bell invited not just trade, but opportunity-and possibly a bit of gossip with your morning onions.
But now, listen for the real granddaddy of the bells: Gabriel. With an inscription that claims it was “heaven sent,” this monster of a bell weighs about a ton and is nearly four feet wide. Some think it was cast as far back as the 1330s, long before the tower itself! Gabriel would ring out at 4 a.m. for the Angelus-if you weren’t a morning person back then, tough luck. It tolled curfew, emergencies-like fires, or even the fateful First Battle of St Albans.
During the Napoleonic Wars, the tower’s height made it perfect for a semaphore station, those clever shutter-telegraphs sending secret messages across the country. No emails or texts-just a system of flipping boards, with your signal racing all the way to Great Yarmouth in a matter of minutes. Bit less convenient than a mobile app, I admit.
Inside, the clock mechanism, installed in 1866, was dreamed up by Lord Grimthorpe, the same chap behind Big Ben’s mechanism in London. That’s right: you’re looking at an ancestor of the British bongs. And during its days, the tower has sheltered clock keepers, housed shopkeepers in its base, and even been nearly demolished-only to be rescued, restored, and celebrated time and again.
Today, the tower is lovingly looked after by volunteers, opening its doors on weekends and special occasions-if your legs are up to the challenge, all that stands between you and the top is a quick 93-step spiral staircase. If you get out of breath, don’t worry. You can always blame the altitude-or the excitement of standing amid centuries of rebellion, markets, and the echo of those ancient chimes.
So while you gaze up-or maybe set your watch by the old clock-just remember: this isn’t just a tower. It’s a stony reminder of a town determined to call time for itself. And trust me, the view from the top isn’t too shabby either… if you dare the climb.
If you're keen on discovering more about the design, bells and clock or the access, head down to the chat section and engage with me.
