How To Become A Yeoman Warder

So there I was, standing in the drizzle outside the White Tower, watching a man in a navy blue frock coat with scarlet trim check his pocket watch. He looked like he’d just stepped out of a Tudor painting—minus the smirk. I asked him, “How does one actually get your job?” He chuckled, tapped his beaver hat, and said, “Twenty-two years of service, and a lot of luck.” I thought he was joking. He wasn’t.

That’s when I realized: becoming a Yeoman Warder—one of the iconic “Beefeaters” at the Tower of London—isn’t about charm or a killer interview. It’s a marathon of military discipline, patience, and a willingness to live in a medieval fortress (yes, you get a flat inside the Tower). If you’re picturing yourself giving cheeky tours while wearing a ruff, keep reading. But fair warning: it’s not for the faint of—well, anything.

Step One: Get That Military Service Under Your Belt

Here’s the hard truth: you must have served in the British Armed Forces for at least 22 years. Not 20, not 21—22, with a “good conduct” medal to prove you didn’t go rogue. I know, I know. That’s a whole adult lifetime before you can even apply.

But wait—there’s a tiny loophole. You also need to have reached the rank of Warrant Officer or above (think sergeant-major level). So, no, your four years as a part-time reservist won’t cut it. The Tower’s HR department isn’t messing around—they want people who’ve already led, sweated, and kept their cool under fire.

Oh, and you need a long service record that shows you’ve never been court-martialed for stealing the regimental silver. (Yes, that happened to a guy in 2019. He didn’t get the job.)

Step Two: Apply, Then Wait… and Wait Some More

Once you’ve got your 22 years and your stripes, you can apply. The selection process is brutal. You’ll face a panel of senior Yeoman Warders, a historian, and a psychologist—all of whom will stare at you like you’re trying to nick the Crown Jewels. They’ll ask you about British history, etiquette, and your ability to stay calm when a tourist asks for the 57th time, “Are you a real Beefeater?”

You also need to pass a fitness test—and no, it’s not just walking the Tower’s 22 acres. I’m talking carrying a 30-pound ceremonial halberd up the spiral stairs of the Bloody Tower without gasping. (One candidate fainted last year. He was disqualified, but got a free bottle of water.)

Then comes the medical—because living in a drafty 900-year-old building with no central heating in some rooms? Yeah, your lungs better be soldier-proof. The final interview is basically a history quiz you can’t cram for. One question I heard: “What colour were the walls of the White Tower in 1100?” (Answer: whitewashed, but you had to mention the lime source. Seriously.)

Step Three: Survive the Training (And the Tourists)

If you get selected—and only about 10 to 15 spots open up per year—you start a rigorous training program. You learn every stone’s story, every ghost’s name, and how to do the walk: slow, dignified, but with a hint of menace. The Head Yeoman will inspect your uniform daily—down to the buttons on your tights. (Yes, tights. You will wear them. Embrace it.)

You also get the famous nickname “Beefeater” from the 1700s—not because you eat beef, but because you were allowed a daily ration of it. So if you’re vegetarian, uh, maybe rethink this? (Lately they’ve relaxed the diet rule, but the tradition hovers.)

And then there’s the public. You’ll give tours to 3 million people a year. You’ll hear the same jokes—“Where’s the beef?”—and you must smile. Every. Single. Time. One warder told me he keeps a mental jar of “I’ll say something cheeky later” thoughts. That’s how you survive.

The Perks: Living In a Castle (Kind of)

Here’s the best part: as a Yeoman Warder, you get a free flat inside the Tower grounds. Yes, you can wake up, look out your window, and see the ravens pecking at the grass. Your rent is covered, utilities too, and you’re steps from your workplace. But the catch? You’re always on duty. If a tour group gets lost at 10 p.m., they’ll knock on your door. Because you’re the Beefeater. It’s your job.

Also, you wear the famous uniform every day—navy blue for winter, red for summer, plus that massive hat. And when you go to the pub? You’re buying your own beer, but everyone offers. I’m told the real trick is to accept only one drink, or you’ll be telling the story of Anne Boleyn four times in one evening.

A Final Piece of Irony

Despite the 22-year requirement and the brutal selection, the job is incredibly popular. There’s a waiting list of qualified applicants. So if you’re reading this at 45 years old and you’ve already done your military service, you’re golden—provided you know when the Tower’s moat last dried out (1843, by the way).

But if you’re 22 and dreaming of that beaver hat? Start your military career today. And maybe practice your walking speed. Because the Tower doesn’t wait—and neither do the tourists. Oh, and learn to love the word “worky-ticket.” It’s what the warders call their uniform. You’ll say it with a straight face. Good luck.