The main staircase leads only up as far as the topmost room in the tower; but there is a small trapdoor opening down into the room which provides access to the roof. A series of broad metal rungs in the wall below act as a steep ladder upwards.

The outside area itself is little more than a railed parapet around the central slope of the roof, but the flagstones are a good three feet wide and the railings are waist-high, wrought black iron that is unobtrusive yet sturdy to lean upon. It is hard to resist the temptation to lean on the rail, the first time you are up here, and look out over the wide sweep of the valley below.

The stones are worn smooth and slightly hollowed by many years of footsteps and rainwater, and after a heavy dew there are places where the water stands in shallow pools; but in the summer they are pleasant to bare feet, and it is comfortable to curl down into one of the dips with a book, leaning back against the ridged warmth of the leads behind. The lead roof seems to hold the sun for hours even when there is a cold wind blowing.

The central slope of the roof rises well above the curve of the ceiling below, peaking above head-height in a small wrought ornament that supports a flagstaff. When it is very windy, the noise of the lines tapping on the staff carries down into the workroom below; on occasion it can become annoying, but in general the sound is pleasantly reminiscent of moored boats, and if the worst comes to the worst it can be muffled by a piece of sacking, kept inside the roofspace itself along with a selection of flags.

The latter include a home-made Union Jack, sewn out of three layers of cloth and in consequence too heavy to fly properly except in strong winds; in any case the colours have run slightly, and it is kept mainly for sentimental value. There are a couple of heraldic-looking standards that appear as if they ought to mean something — but don't — and a plain black flag that is flown as an unspoken signal that the inhabitant of the tower is at home, but does not wish to be disturbed. On most days, however, the Ivory Tower flies its own white and gold banner, streaming out above the mists like another wisp of cloud.