Victoria Tower

Stand at the southern end of the Houses of Parliament and tilt your head back. The stone climbs, and keeps climbing. Pale honey-coloured blocks rise in tight Gothic panels, layer after layer, until the eye reaches a flagpole that seems to touch the clouds. Down here the air carries the hum of traffic on Millbank, the rush of the Thames just beyond the railings, and now and then the sharp cry of a gull. This is the Victoria Tower, the tallest part of the Palace of Westminster.

Most visitors walk straight past it. Their attention goes to the clock tower at the far northern end, the one everyone calls Big Ben. But this square giant at the southern end is actually the taller of the two. When it was completed around 1860, it was celebrated as the tallest square stone tower in the world. It stands at roughly ninety-eight metres, and it carries the name of the queen who reigned while it rose.

To understand why it exists at all, we have to go back to a night in October 1834. A fire broke out in the old medieval palace, which had grown over centuries into a jumble of halls, chapels and offices. Crowds gathered on the riverbanks to watch it burn. By morning, most of the old buildings were gone. Westminster Hall survived, and it still stands today. Almost everything else had to be rebuilt.

A public competition followed, and the architect Charles Barry won it. He worked closely with a young designer named Augustus Pugin, who was passionate about medieval Gothic art. Pugin filled the new palace with carved detail — tracery, heraldry, patterned panels and pointed arches. Their chosen style is often called Perpendicular Gothic. That is a late medieval English style, known for strong vertical lines and tall, narrow window shapes. Look up at the tower and you can see those lines running straight to the sky.

Barry planned two great towers to anchor the long river front. The clock tower would mark the north. At the south, he wanted something heavier and more solemn — a royal gateway. That is exactly what you see at the base of the tower. The enormous arch at ground level is called the Sovereign's Entrance. It is one of the largest Gothic arches of its kind, and it is tall enough for a royal state coach to pass straight through.

This is the door the monarch uses at the State Opening of Parliament. On that day, the king or queen arrives by carriage, passes under this arch, and walks up into the palace to deliver the speech that opens a new parliamentary session. Around the archway, look for carved royal coats of arms, crowns, lions and Tudor roses. Pugin and his carvers wanted the stone itself to announce who was coming through.

Now, here is something many visitors do not know. The tower is not hollow ceremony. For a long time its upper floors have held the Parliamentary Archives. These are the official records of Parliament, stored on many floors of shelving. Among them are original Acts of Parliament stretching back to the late fifteenth century. Barry designed the tower partly with this purpose in mind. After a fire had destroyed the old palace, a fire-resistant home for priceless documents made a great deal of sense.

Think about that for a moment. Above your head, behind those carved panels, are handwritten laws on parchment. Some changed the course of British history — laws on voting, on trade, on the abolition of slavery. Many were written out by hand and rolled up for safekeeping. So the tower that welcomes the monarch is also, in a quiet way, the memory of Parliament itself.

Now look at the flagpole on the very top. It carries a second surprise, because the flag tells you something. On most days, the Union Flag flies here. When the monarch is present in the palace, the Royal Standard flies instead. It is a simple signal, but it has been read by passers-by for generations. Before you leave, check which flag is up. You may be standing beside a working royal visit without knowing it.

The stone has its own story too. Barry chose a magnesian limestone from Anston in Yorkshire, valued for its warm colour. Unfortunately, it did not cope well with the smoke and soot of Victorian London. The coal-heavy air ate into the surfaces, and decay showed up within a few decades. Ever since, masons have worked on the palace, replacing and repairing damaged blocks. If you look closely, you may notice slight differences in tone between older stone and newer replacement work.

Now turn around, and walk a few steps south. The green space beside the tower is Victoria Tower Gardens, a calm strip of lawn along the river. Here you will find a bronze cast of Auguste Rodin's sculpture The Burghers of Calais, showing six medieval men in anguish. Nearby stands the Buxton Memorial Fountain, a colourful Gothic structure that honours campaigners against slavery. Close to the tower, there is also a statue of Emmeline Pankhurst, who led the fight for women's votes.

Those monuments sit together for a reason. Each one connects to the work done inside the building behind you — debate, protest, law and change. From the gardens you also get one of the best views of the tower itself. The lawn gives you enough distance to see the whole height at once, from the great arch to the flag. The river sits to one side, and the long palace front runs away towards the north.

The whole palace, together with nearby Westminster Abbey and Saint Margaret's Church, is a UNESCO World Heritage Site. That status recognises a place that is still alive. Laws are still debated here, and the archives are still consulted. The doorway still opens for the monarch. This is not a museum frozen in place. It is a working building, with all the noise and argument that politics brings.

So take one last look. Follow the vertical lines of stone upward, past the carved crowns, past the narrow panels, to the flag moving in the wind off the Thames. Listen to the river, the buses, and the voices of people hurrying past on their way to somewhere else. As you walk on, glance back once. The tower will still be there, keeping its records, keeping watch over the gate below.