Thor's Cape Parrot Site

HOW THOR GOT HIS NAME

By Dana Parrott

October 2000

It was a cold December day at Her Majesty’s Tower of
London. We had seen the crown jewels and the armour
exhibit in the White Tower, and it was time for the
Yeoman Warder guided tour to start.
“Does anyone here know the Legend of the Ravens?” asked
our Yeoman Warder tour guide, a handsome man who looked
like a curious cross between Sylvester Stallone and
Mr. Bean. Most everyone in the group shook their heads.
Craig and I nodded; we had been to the Tower before.

“Well,” he said, “for many centuries, over 900 years, in
fact, these unique guardians have patrolled the Tower of
London. According to legend, ‘Only so long as they stay
will the White Tower stand.’ So, should the ravens ever
leave, the White Tower would crumble and a great
disaster would befall England. Fortunately, these
respected residents, since the reign of King Charles II,
have been protected by royal decree.

“The Tower ravens reached their lowest point soon after
World War II. With the disturbances of the bombing and
the unresolved kidnapping of the raven Mabel, only the
raven Grip was left holding the fort. Now we don’t take
any chances. There are always six ravens in residence
here, and we even have a seventh, a ‘spare’. In recent
years, we have proudly witnessed the birth of a new
generation of ravens here at the Tower, so we are in no
danger of the Kingdom collapsing.

“As you walk around the Tower grounds, you’ll notice
that individual ravens have their own territories.
Hardey hangs out near the Coldharbour Gate, which is the
site of an earlier entrance to the Tower. Cedric and
Odin can usually be found hopping around on the grass
which used to be the site of the Great Hall, between the
foundation of the old Roman city wall and the wall of
the inmost ward. Hugine and Gwylum prefer the Tower
Green, where Anne Boleyn’s execution would have been
observed by the ravens. Munin and Thor are often
perched on top of the Wardrobe Tower. If you walk over
to the entrance to the armouries near the Tower Steps,
where the footsteps of William the Conqueror echoed 900
years ago, you will likely find Thor. He is easy to
pick out because he’s by far the most vocal raven of the
group, and my personal favourite.”

So, off we went to find Thor, who, when we found him,
squawked at us to get out of his territory.

-oOo-

“Have you thought about names at all?” I asked Craig.

It was about a year after our trip to England, and we
had just sent our deposit check to Scott Lewis of Old
World Aviaries in Austin, Texas, to reserve our baby
Cape.

“I was thinking ‘Thor’,” he answered.

“No way! Why would you want to name your baby after
that stupid alien on Stargate?”

“No, not the alien on Stargate, the raven at the Tower.”

“I had completely forgotten about him. Yeah, that’s a
great name. Let’s do it.”

We had no idea at the time just how appropriate the name
was. Our Thor has got to be the most vocal, by far, of
all Capes!

-oOo-

It was now September of 2000, and we were way past due
for a trip. When Dr. Colleen Downs decided to visit
England and give a talk on Cape parrots (you can read
the transcript of her talk on this website!
) it was the only excuse we needed to
get out of town, and we started to pack our bags.

“Of course, we have to go back to the Tower and visit
Thor,” I said.

“Of course,” agreed Craig. “We need to get better
pictures for the website.”

It was not a cold day at the Tower this time; in fact,
it was raining, and the tours were nearly canceled.

“Let’s just walk around and try to find Thor, then,” I
suggested.

We went to the Wardrobe Tower and the Tower steps, which
we knew to be Thor’s territory. We found two ravens
perched on top of the Wardrobe Tower, and assumed one of
them to be Thor. When one of them squawked, we were
pretty sure we had found our baby’s namesake. But we
could not coax him down from the top of the Wardrobe
Tower.

“Well, there are a lot of people around; maybe they like
to stay out of the crowds,” said Craig. “Why don’t we
go do some other things and come back later when the
crowds have dwindled down, and maybe he’ll come down
then.”

So off we went to see the famous Domesday Book and the
cell where Sir Thomas Moore was imprisoned by King Henry
VIII. When there was a break in the weather, we went to
the meeting point where the tour was to begin.

“How many of you know the legend of the ravens?” asked
this year’s Yeoman Warder tour guide, a very
distinguished-looking gentleman. We raised our hands.

“I bet I can still teach you something you don’t already
know,” he said. “Ravens are magnificent birds, large
members of the genus Corvus, the crow family, and are
eaters of carrion and live mostly on dead flesh.”

After more gory details about the facts of their diet,
the Yeoman Warder continued. “These ravens respond only
to the Ravenmaster and are likely to attack if
approached too closely by anyone else. He is regarded
by them as a raven himself, because he raised them.”

“Sounds like our Thor,” I said. “But I don’t know if he
thinks we’re birds or that he’s human.”

The Yeoman Warder continued. “The individual ravens can
be identified by their different-coloured leg rings.”

He was right; he did teach us something we didn’t know.
We hadn’t known about the different-coloured leg bands.

So, after determining that Thor wore a light green leg
band, we knew who to look for. And Craig was right: By
this time, the crowds had thinned out, and Thor was down
from the Wardrobe Tower.

“Wish we’d known about the different-coloured leg bands
earlier,” said Craig. “But we were pretty sure it was
him when he squawked. Now we know it was him.”

“Remember, they’ll attack,” I said, but we were able to
get within just a few feet of Thor, who was perched upon
a two-foot high iron border fence.

“Hi, Thor! Hi, Thor!” said Craig.

“Remember, they respond only to the Ravenmaster,” I
said.

“Hi, Thor! Hi, Thor!” continued Craig.

Thor looked at Craig as if to say, “Who are you and how
do you know my name?”

“Hi, Thor!”

Thor continued to look at Craig with that confused look
on his face, cocked his head to the right, and said,
“Good morning,” in a perfect British accent.

Now there was really no doubt in our mind that we’d
picked the perfect name for our baby.