This can’t be a coincidence. I’m talking about how Britain’s and Germany’s paths started to cross over more than 4,000 years ago. During my academic studies at the Institute of Tourist Guiding, along the massive curriculum, I experienced plenty of Blue Badge “aha!” moments, and I decided to note them down. Now that I’m one of the newly qualified London Blue Badge Tourist Guides, it’s time to bring all these moments to life. Whether direct or indirect, I see these paths as worth sharing in my very first blog post and here it is. 

My blog idea all started and was triggered by a name: Wynkyn de Worde. A very unusual name. He was the apprentice of William Caxton, the man who introduced printing technology to England. Printing technology began in Germany with Gutenberg, who invented this new system in the mid‑1400s. Wynkyn moved the printing press from Westminster to Fleet Street. This gives me the opportunity to talk about him when the coach hits traffic on Fleet Street. I always love to delve into rabbit holes. This Wynkyn guy came to England in 1476. Well, it perfectly matches as sources say printing media started to flourish from the mid‑1400s onwards. End of Richard II’s reign, beginning of Henry IV’s reign, master mason Henry Yevele, the Abbey’s nave, and The Canterbury Tales for sure. All perfectly matches. But where did Wynkyn come from? Well, he was from the Rhineland. Rhineland? Hang on a second! Isn’t this the same Rhineland or Rhine Valley region where the Beaker migrants came from, the people who changed the agile traditions of Stonehenge’s Neolithic community in 2200 BC? Salute to our out‑of‑London sessions! 

Mmm. Seems the German influence had already started in the 2200 BCs in Wiltshire through an ancient community whose lineage and background trace back to that particular region. Thanks to science, isotope‑mapping techniques, and Mike Parker Pearson’s Riverside Project, we understand their ideas and rituals, and we know where they came from. The rest is in Stonehenge. So, could we say Willkommen? I think we could. 

Let’s keep walking through the timeline of Britain, shall we? Germanic wave! In the 5th and 6th centuries, this land was occupied by Jutes, Angles, and Saxons after the Romans’ departure. These groups reshaped the entire cultural, linguistic, and political landscape of Britain. No wonder the roots of English rely on Germanic culture. Let’s give the lion’s share. From Angeln in modern northern Germany/Schleswig, they gave their name to England: Anglo‑land. Same level of impact we see in Beaker culture. No wonder so many everyday English words are Germanic like house, home, mother, father, bread, water, fire, king, queen, night, day, love, hate, think, speak, work, walk. Yes? Yeah, ja! 

Speaking of all German influences, I should also bring in the Hanseatic League Germany’s medieval powerhouse in London. The London‑based house was called The Steelyard (or Stalhof). It sat on the Thames, just west of London Bridge, exactly where Cannon Street Station stands today. The “Pompeii of the North,” shall we say, also from the coach pano. German merchants, mainly from Cologne, Lübeck, and Hamburg, dominated London trade for hundreds of years. They imported metal goods, Rhine wine (oh oh, here we go again), timber, ropes, wax, flax, hemp, linen and they exported English wool and cloth, the backbone of medieval English wealth. Germans introduced new weighing systems, giving English the term “steelyard weights.” Their privileges were so strong that English merchants resented them until Queen Elizabeth I, finally expelled them in 1598, just a couple of years before the foundation of the East India Company. 

Guess what? During their presence they commissioned Hans Holbein for portraits of Hanseatic merchants. The German‑background, super‑talented painter. Oh, The Ambassadors the sole reason to be bedazzled by his artwork. Also linked to Anne of Cleves, King Henry VIII’s fourth wife. Did someone say Germany? Ja! She was from the Duchy of Cleves. A German painter for a German princess, from a timeline when Sony or Canon cameras weren’t invented. A time when there wasn’t any social media presence no Facebook nor Instagram. When a remote date was only possible thanks to him. Salute to our National Gallery presentation sessions! 

Okay. How about the Greenwich Armoury King Henry VIII set up in 1517 for his pleasure, which we see in the White Tower today? Erasmus Kyrkenar, a German master armourer, was responsible for Henry VIII’s spectacular tournament armour. All these armours the BMWs and Mercedeses of that era. All these medieval chivalric armours were also embellished by his skilled work. White Tower: all Henry VIII’s armoury you will see and observe. Salute to our Tower of London presentation sessions! 

Meanwhile, something was percolating in Wittenberg, Germany (oh oh) at the same time, which would change the whole course of English history. A priest named Martin Luther had already pinned his 95 Theses to the door of Wittenberg Castle Church. After Germany and France, England was ready to get on that wagon and yes, it all started in Germany. English reformers like Tyndale, Cranmer, and Latimer would be inspired in later years. What a cross‑path. Oh, salute to all our lovely eight history chapters and early Christianity walks and lectures! 

Is it finished? Nope. We’ve only just started. Within the borders of the Rhineland cultural orbital, this country invited a German king King George I, whose accession dates back to 1714. He established a dynasty that ruled Britain for over 200 years. Under the Hanoverian rule, we see an expansion of the empire, industrial and scientific revolutions, and the rise of parliamentary government. Hanover Square and Hanover Street in London’s heart, just off Oxford and Regent Street, mmmm salute to our coach sessions! They were named in honour of the House of Hanover, the German dynasty that began with George I in 1714. German royal naming embedded in London’s geography. So even London’s street map carries the imprint of German influence today, right? It reinforces the Hanoverian presence in the city. His son George II and G2’s wife Caroline of Ansbach cemented all these achievements. 

We can’t miss the statue of Handel in the Abbey’s Poets’ Corner (PCII, as I’ve coded). Born in Halle, he arrived in London in 1710 with all his musical talents and background. He successfully became the musical voice of this nation in the 1740s. It’s the same river valley sending Britain new people, new ideas, and new energy. Yes, they’re all from Germany. Salute to our Abbey presentations!  

The Tower Mint Master Isaac Newton could only successfully observe the universe as far as Jupiter with his invented telescope. No, I’m not talking about any Germanic background related to him but in 1781, the German siblings Herschels discovered Uranus with their telescopes in Bath. Abbey’s Scientists’ Corner is all linked to their success. William and Caroline Herschel, German‑born astronomers who reshaped British science. Born in Hanover (mmm), William moved to Britain in 1757. His sister Caroline Herschel, also born in Hanover, followed him and became one of the most important female astronomers in history. His discovery earned him membership in the Royal Society, the Copley Medal, and the position of Court Astronomer to King George III. He later discovered infrared radiation, moons of Uranus and Saturn, and catalogued thousands of nebulae. Caroline Herschel independently discovered comets and became the first woman to receive a salary as a scientist in Britain. Today their legacy continues in the Herschel Museum of Astronomy in Bath perhaps a good idea to visit after the yummy Sally Lunn’s buns, with its 10‑minute walking distance. Salute to the Abbey presentations at the Scientists Corner! 

Just before we move on to the 1800s, I have one German consort princess that I should bring to the table: Queen Charlotte. Born Princess Sophia Charlotte of Mecklenburg‑Strelitz, she was entirely German. She arrived in Britain in 1761, aged just 17, speaking German, raised in a German duchy, and steeped in German court culture. Married to King George III, she served as Queen Consort for 57 years and gave birth to 15 children. Her German heritage shaped the Georgian court, the arts, and the royal family’s continental connections. She is another powerful reminder that the British monarchy has deep German roots. 

We are now in the 1800s. A handsome young German prince from the Duchy of Saxe‑Coburg and Gotha was introduced by his German uncle Leopold to the young and beautiful Queen Victoria. Albert and Victoria: two peas in the same bowl. The attempt to stay within the royal bubble worked really well, and the power of the love match was incredibly successful. Perhaps that’s the reason we see his statue near the Urswick Chapel in Windsor’s St George’s Chapel, where his dear princess wife Charlotte and her unborn child are now resting in peace. It was a symbol of gratitude: thank you, Uncle, for your effort. From a young British queen to her uncle for her handsome lover: Prince Albert. The German who re‑engineered Victorian Britain. Married to a 21‑year‑old young English queen. Prince Albert came from a Saxon aristocratic family of the Ernestine Wettins, a major German dynasty (Bavarikon). His ancestors were patrons of Martin Luther (aha! another Blue Badge moment) and the Reformation. He was well‑educated in Bonn, steeped in German intellectual Bavarikon culture. An intellectual young prince deeply involved in public causes, education, abolitionism, and constitutional reform. He masterminded the Great Exhibition of 1851, one of the defining events of Victorian Britain as we know it. Albert modernised British education, art, science, and industry. No wonder the large orbital of South Kensington is called Albertopolis. His German heritage shaped Victorian culture, art, science, architecture, and public life. 

The grandson of Albert and Victoria, King George V, and his first cousin Kaiser Wilhelm II both were the grandsons of Queen Victoria. One of the most extraordinary and dramatic Anglo‑German connections in history. Both cousins, raised together, photographed together, and even dressed in matching uniforms as children. They were part of the famous royal cousins who led Europe into WWI. This relationship highlights the irony of Britain and Germany going to war despite being ruled by close relatives. 

Gotha bombers arrived in London, and the first deadly cargo dropped from the sky in June 1917 left 162 people dead. Headlines on Fleet Street said: “German Gothas Over London.” The public was outraged, panicked, and anti‑German sentiment exploded. But hang on a second. What’s going on here? The enemy bombers and the royal family shared the same German region’s name. For a second, imagine the optics: German planes bombing London. German cousins ruling Germany. A British king with a German surname. German‑born relatives still in European courts. This became politically impossible to continue. King George V made a radical decision. 

On 17 July 1917, the King issued a royal proclamation: the British royal family would abandon all German titles and surnames. He picked a new name that sounded very English, bold, geographical, safe, and right at the heart of the country: Windsor. Inspired by Windsor Castle the spiritual home of the Most Noble Order of the Garter since 1348. The most English royal symbol imaginable. This was not just a rebrand. It was a political survival move. And voilà! The House of Windsor was born. Overnight, the surname Saxe‑Coburg and Gotha disappeared; all German titles were renounced. British royals with German names anglicised them. Even the Battenbergs became Mountbatten. That’s also a different chapter perhaps another blog topic worth writing. This is the moment when the monarchy became fully British in identity, even though its bloodline remained deeply German. Perhaps that must be the reason for the German cousin Kaiser’s tease: “Merry Wives of Saxe‑Coburg‑Gotha!” 

During the interwar period, the seeds of a publishing company were scattered. In our coach pano route, just before Bessborough Gardens while heading to Vauxhall Bridge, the Penguin Publishing building is on our left. Penguin Books, founded in 1935 in London, is today German‑owned through its parent company Bertelsmann, one of the world’s largest media groups. Well, another connection to Germany. Penguin made great books as cheap as cigarettes in that year, then famously fought and won the right to publish the bold novel Lady Chatterley’s Lover. It gave the world everything from Orwell’s “Big Brother” to the true‑crime genre with In Cold Blood. What a reminiscent fact of William Caxton and the contribution of his German apprentice Wynkyn all through a German invention. 

Just five years later, Britain faced a huge conflict. Here we go again. The Blitz is the 20th‑century expression of that same deep historical entanglement this time launched by Nazi Germany during the Second World War. It targeted London, Coventry, Liverpool, Birmingham, Bath, Canterbury, and many other cities. Aimed to break morale and cripple industry. Instead, it forged the modern British identity of resilience, community, and defiance. It’s the tragic counterpoint to the earlier “gifts” from the German world printing, monarchy, music, migration. 

And here’s the astonishing irony: the same river valley that gave Britain Caxton’s printing tradition and Handel’s music also produced the industrial and military machine that bombed London. History is messy like that the same cultural zones that enrich can also endanger. 

In our coach pano the one we don’t see but had the chance to explore in our 2022–2024 London walk curriculum the statues of the Kindertransport in London Liverpool Street Station. The Kindertransport rescued around 10,000 mostly Jewish children from Germany, Austria, and Czechoslovakia between 1938–1939. They travelled via the Hook of Holland through Harwich ferries, then by train to Liverpool Street Station, where they met foster British families. What a noble gesture and goodwill. Today, Liverpool Street Station has two memorials commemorating these children, both created by artists who were themselves Kindertransport refugees one of them is Frank Meisler’s Arrival in Hope Square, and Flor Kent’s Für das Kind. Displaced in the concourse level. How can we forget Sir Anthony Hopkins’ One Life, the biographical film in which he portrayed Nicholas Winton in 2023? 

We’re now back in the Tower of London. One of our presentation stops is “Prisoners.” I’ve picked the last executed German spy, Josef Jacobs, executed in the Tower on 15 August 1941. The German prisoner who was imprisoned in the King’s House. Well, he was not the only German prisoner in the King’s House I have another name: the deputy Führer of Hitler, Rudolf Hess. Two German arrivals added a dramatic, almost cinematic layer to the WWII chapter. Rudolf Hess flew solo from Germany to Scotland in 1941 on a bizarre, unauthorised peace mission. Like Jacobs, he was captured and imprisoned in Britain. Josef Jacobs, a Luftwaffe pilot, on the other hand, is the only German airman buried in St Mary’s, East Finchley. His story is also another blog topic perhaps later on. 

Another German‑oriented controversial story is how their global mechanical success captured an iconic British identity once connected with the British fashion icon Mary Quant’s signature “mini” skirt. I’m talking about the Mini Cooper, which was acquired by the German automotive giant BMW Group. Oxford’s M40 road now displays a very British name Dr John Radcliffe and a very German trademark together. A modern example of German industrial influence on Britain. The iconic MINI models are still built in Oxford, but under German engineering, design, and corporate leadership. It’s one of the clearest examples of modern Anglo‑German industrial integration. 

MINI is not the only example in our modern world. Believe it or not, the London Eye does contain German engineering. Germany supplied critical components for the London Eye specifically the bearing systems and part of the drive mechanism. These are not minor parts: they are the heart of the wheel’s rotation. Bearing systems provided by FAG / Schaeffler Group, a major German engineering firm. Without German bearings, the wheel cannot turn. Also, the drive mechanism powering the rotation also came from Germany. German engineering is literally what makes the London Eye move. Actually, the Eye was assembled from components made across Europe. Germany’s role was not cosmetic it was mechanical and structural. 

The last two examples in our modern world. London does have German schools, and the main one is in Ted Lasso’s Richmond. Salute to our Multiculturalism and Diversity lectures, we acknowledged the fact that there is a living German community in Richmond. The Deutsche Schule London (DSL) is the major German school in the UK, and it’s in Richmond, between the Thames and Richmond Park. DSL is a German School Abroad, officially supported by the German government. It teaches children aged 3–19 on a large green campus in Richmond and follows the German curriculum, with IB and English‑system components. This is a major German cultural and educational presence in London. 

So, that’s the educational side of the story but how about our daily shopping experience or habits from the supermarkets? I cannot miss two leading German‑oriented cheap‑shopping brands: Lidl and Aldi. Both companies are direct competitors in the UK grocery market. Both are German discount chains, both target the same customer base, and both are expanding aggressively. Luckily and apparently, they are supporting British farming. Both retailers have formally reaffirmed their commitment to Red Tractor‑assured British farming. This means they do buy from British farmers and do use Red Tractor standards. It seems Aldi and Lidl are “very switched on in trying to align with domestic supply as much as possible,” because they know they must win “hearts and minds” in the UK as German discounters. However, their low‑price model and tough negotiation tactics create commercial pressure on suppliers, with Lidl ranking poorly in supplier‑satisfaction surveys. 

Perhaps here at the end of my blog I should personally interfere at this stage. I see another German connection in Britain and that’s GDK. What is this? That’s German Doner Kebab. Oh, c’mon! That’s not German but Turkish. Trust me, none of the Turks have their döner kebab wrapped in a lahmacun but GDK’s craziness does. It’s the same reaction an Italian has when they see people eating pasta with ketchup. Turks do it, I’m afraid. German Doner Kebab a Berlin‑born version of a Turkish classic now found all over the UK. As a Turkish‑background Blue Badge guide, I must say that even our döner has joined the Anglo‑German exchange programme in Britain. 

Well, it is the timeline journey that connects Beakers to Döner at the end, and I’d like to thank you for the kind time you reserved for reading my very first blog. 

Auf Wiedersehen! 

I believe it is universally agreed that the Changing of the Guard ceremony, one of Britain’s most beloved traditions, holds a special place in the hearts of visitors to England. That is one of the main reasons why people flock to the front of Buckingham Palace and Windsor Castle. Crowds push forward through a forest of cameras, almost like warriors trying to break through Harold II’s famous shield wall, just to catch a glimpse of those magical and musical moments provided by the regiments. What beautiful pomp and pageantry. It is the kind of ceremony you do not want to see end. Perhaps that is why eager crowds often follow the regiments along the route as they march away.

The global popularity of the Changing of the Guard is undeniable. But what is it really about? Why do we still see such a ceremony today? What makes it so special?

Our story takes us back to King Henry VII, founder of the Tudor dynasty. According to the interpretation of the Household Division, the earliest ancestors of these royal guards first protected Henry VII in the 1500s. In fact, we should go back slightly further, to the end of the Wars of the Roses. The final battle was the Battle of Bosworth in 1485. Soon after his victory, Henry VII created the Yeomen of the Guard, the King’s first personal royal bodyguard. Today, they are often associated in the public imagination with the Beefeaters of the Tower of London. This means that we can trace the ceremonial DNA of royal protection back to the Tower. The Yeomen Warders, also known as Beefeaters, are the Tower based cousins of this wider tradition. They represent the Tudor branch of royal protection: disciplined, static, ceremonial, and fortress based. What we see today in front of Buckingham Palace and Windsor Castle, however, is more dynamic. It is still ceremonial, but it is full of movement, music, colour, the same discipline, and energy. Over time, this tradition was reconstructed, upgraded, and made more grand and ostentatious.

This is also the story of two loyal sons trying to restore the honour of two fathers through two regiments, a story that even leads us to two very different horses.

After the bloody Civil War between Parliamentarian and Royalist forces, King Charles I was executed on 30 January 1649 outside the Banqueting House in Whitehall. If you look carefully at the clock near Horse Guards, you may notice that the two o’clock position is marked in black, traditionally said to refer to the time of the King’s execution. After this event, the country entered the period historians call the Interregnum, which lasted for more than 11 years. There was another important royalist figure who had been executed eight years earlier, in 1641. Thomas Wentworth, Earl of Strafford, was one of King Charles I’s most loyal and powerful advisers. Under pressure from Parliament, Charles I signed Strafford’s death warrant, a decision he is said to have deeply regretted. Strafford’s death became a powerful symbol of loyalty, sacrifice, and royalist tragedy.

So here we have two fathers, Charles I and Thomas Wentworth, and two sons connected by exile, loyalty, and the hope of restoration.

Charles II, the exiled son of Charles I, was planning his return to England with the help of General George Monck, who would later be rewarded with the title Duke of Albemarle. At the same time, the Wentworth family remained closely linked to the royalist cause. During Charles II’s exile, royalist military forces were organised abroad, including units connected to the origins of what later became the Grenadier Guards. When Charles II returned to England in 1660, he rebuilt the royal guard system. New and reorganised regiments emerged, including the Life Guards, the Horse Guards, and the Royal Regiment of Foot Guards, the ancestor of the Grenadier Guards. These regiments became part of the restored image of monarchy: disciplined, musical, colourful, and loyal. This was not only military organisation. It was also royal public relations. The message was clear: monarchy had returned, order had returned, and ceremonial splendour would once again become part of national life.

And then we come to the horses.

The horses we see today in Whitehall, ridden by the mounted soldiers of the Life Guards and the Blues and Royals, stand at one of the most photographed spots in London. They are a perfect reminder of the restoration of royal ceremony after years of conflict. These highly trained horses are noble members of the regiment in their own right. They tolerate crowds, camera flashes, sudden movements, and the endless sirens of ambulances, police cars, and fire engines in this busy city. And yes, they sometimes seem to know exactly who the goodies and the baddies are.

Not far from these living horses, we find another extraordinary horse, this time inside the National Gallery. It rises before us in monumental form, rearing slightly, full of tension, beauty, and power. I am, of course, talking about Whistlejacket, George Stubbs’s famous life size portrait of an Arabian racehorse. And here comes the wonderful historical connection. Stubbs was commissioned by Charles Watson Wentworth, 2nd Marquess of Rockingham, a descendant of the Wentworth family. In this sense, Whistlejacket can be seen not just as a magnificent horse painting, but also as a symbol of aristocratic confidence, cultural revival, and family prestige after political catastrophe.

England’s history is like a spider’s web. At first, every fact seems separate. But when you look more closely, they are all connected. A London Blue Badge Tourist Guide helps reveal these hidden links, turning individual stories into one great historical network for history lovers.