Totally X-Treme Cathedral Mega-Weekend, Part Two: Canterbury
Okay, falling just a bit behind here now.... This will be almost exclusively a photo essay, save for those parts that really require the (ahem) "narrative voice." Two reasons for this: one, it'll be faster, and two, pictures of Canterbury Cathedral speak for themselves (mostly).
It was another early morning for me. That's relative to the early mornings of many of you, I know, who commonly wake up as early as seven o'clock the previous night. As for myself, I enjoy my illusion that the sun comes up at nine. I meant to sleep on the bus, but I got to talking to this girl from UCI, Becca, and that kept me conscious throughout the drive. After this session is over, she's moving to Ireland where she'll be going to school for the next year, so... she's here for a good long while. Sinmi was also on this trip, as it happened, so the three of us ended up forming a unit, of which Becca (thankfully) was willing to take charge. The bus dropped us off at the coach park, from which we were led along a stream (and underneath "a very, very dangerous intersection") into town.
There's a ton of history in Canterbury Cathedral, as might be expected. The crypt was especially thick with it -- you can practically feel the weight of centuries pressing in on you -- but pictures aren't allowed in there. I was amazed at all the graffiti. I just can't believe anyone would think it's okay to write their initials on a stone column in such a place. That said, I will admit that it was pretty cool to find some markings that seemed nearly as old as the rest of the cathedral (carved into the stone, of course). There is also a treasure room of sorts down there, with glass cases full of silver chalices, alms plates, and so forth. I noticed that I was only interested in the old stuff. There was an interesting set of copper castings showing the major events of Christ's last days, but as soon as I saw they were made in the '60s they lost much of their appeal. I know that's not fair, but that's the kind of guy I am. Similarly, upstairs, I cruised past most of the "newer" memorials (i.e., anything after 1800) to get to the truly old ones. I mean, let's be honest, I can see things from the 1800s in the U.S., right? But to what extent has, say, 13th-century North American civilization left its mark on the world? Very little. I'm not saying that's good, but I am saying that I can't very well walk into a building and witness it.
Canterbury, on the other hand, oozes history. Most people know about it through Chaucer's Canterbury Tales, which is notable not just because of its literary merit but because it is perhaps the first recorded weather report in history (these are the jokes, people!), but the reason the Wife of Bath, the Miller, the Reeve, the Nun's Priest, and the rest were on a pilgrimage to Canterbury Cathedral in the first place was to pay their respects to Thomas Becket.
Becket, then Archbishop of Canterbury, was martyred in an odd and almost accidental way. He'd been giving Henry II some resistance over a disagreement about the role of the Church, and Henry II, ranting about the whole thing, bellowed, "Will no one rid me of this termagant priest?" (It should be mentioned that there are several versions of Henry II's exact words, including "turbulent priest" and "lowborn priest"; me, I like "termagant.") What the king didn't know was that four knights overheard him, and because they were energetic self-starters, they went to Canterbury and killed Becket in the cathedral. These events have been the subject of a great deal of literature, most prominently (to me) T.S. Eliot's play Murder in the Cathedral, which I once had the pleasure of seeing performed by the Mercury 7 Astronauts.
Canterbury Cathedral is also the resting place of some other historical figures, including Edward Plantagenet, aka "The Black Prince," the eldest son of King Edward III and father of Richard II, who, if I recall correctly, once traded his kingdom for a horse (crazy but true!!!). I managed to steal some education from a passing tour group on this one. We don't know why they called him the Black Prince; it could be that he wore black armor, or that the French hated him so much they sought to tar him with this evil epithet. Either way, it stuck. He was seen as the flower of English chivalry by his peers, and as a right jerk by any peasantry he casually ran down on his horse. Not an especially nice guy, as it turns out -- let's call him Lawful Neutral with Evil tendencies -- but devout as all get-out. His will set out in no uncertain terms the manner of his interment in the crypt of the cathedral, but the monks, possibly considering him too great a man to keep hidden in the crypt (or possibly anticipating the increased pilgrimage his tomb would generate in a more public space), put him upstairs instead. The rest of his wishes, however, were respected. Over his tomb is displayed a sword, a crown, a pair of plate gauntlets, and a doublet with his heraldic device.
Notice that his coat of arms includes both the lions of England and the fleur de lis of France. His father ruled over more land in France than in England, thus the mixture.
Speaking of which, right across from him is the tomb of his cousin, Henry IV, the titular character of Shakespeare's Henry IV. Henry and his French wife, Joan of Navarre, rest in the same plexiglass-shielded, iron-barred, rather inaccessible tomb.
In between these two is the original resting place of Thomas Becket, which was removed by Henry VIII because it "interrupted the flow of the room." When he wasn't marrying or subsequently beheading women, Henry VIII was big into interior decorating.
That said, the "backyard" is nearly as elaborate as the inside.
We couldn't stay there all day, of course; there's more to see in Canterbury than the cathedral. Well, relatively speaking, there kind of isn't, but we thought we'd go check it out anyway. We passed through the gift shop on the way out, and I once again silently cursed all of you for not being spoon or thimble collectors. Do you have any idea how much easier it'd be to shop for you people if you had a thing for spoons and/or thimbles?
Canterbury's a pretty small town, all things considered, so it didn't take much to find our next stop: The Canterbury Tales. This is a literary themed attraction in which a few of the Canterbury Tales are "dramatized" through various means. I'm tempted to say through animatronics, but none of the people really move, so... what does that make them? Mannequins? If so, fair enough.
It's extremely dark in there, and no flash photography is allowed, so my pictures all look about this bad. It's just as well, though because the true cheesiness of it can't be adequately captured on digital film. First you're greeted by a creepy, Gandalf-looking Chaucer, who paraphrases the prologue and introduces you to an even more harrowing depiction of Harry, the innkeeper who proposes the storytelling contest in the first place (the winner gets a rake). Only a few of the characters are represented, and each tells his or her story in a different medium, and in between you trudge from one room to another. The Miller is assisted by a bunch of flip-up two-dimensional panels and some other mannequins, and no detail is omitted from the story (to their credit). The Wife of Bath's tale is next, on which I once wrote a paper, and her tale is told through a series of illuminated images on a screen. After that is the Nun's Priest, whose monomedia presentation -- basically, him standing there talking in the same pose for eight minutes -- is a little on the slow side. And so on. They throw a little history and context in, too; the walk takes you past St. Thomas's tomb in the cathedral (which is more than can be said for the unfinished Canterbury Tales), and there's a bit at the end in a typical marketplace, then a final bit in a typical gift shop.
From there we stopped at a chain bookstore (I'm not sure why, but I discovered the remains of an ancient Roman bathhouse in the basement), the Canterbury Roman Museum (which featured a vintage computerized rendering, circa 1990, of a Roman villa), and an impulse buying frenzy at a fruit stand on the main drag.
The only thing left that we all wanted to see (well, at least two of us) was the ruin of the Norman castle, which was a bit further than we'd anticipated, but worth it.
On the way back to the bus, Becca and Sinmi felt a deep-seated need to visit the Winnie the Pooh shop, which we did, and then I took my final picture of the day.
So much for being shorter, huh?
Oh, one last thing. When I got home, the garbage in the entryway was still there, but messier. I asked the girls coming in behind me, "Why am I the only one bothered by this? Is this how the rest of you live at home -- with rotting garbage strewn all over your foyer?" They seemed to think it impossible that anything could be done about it, so I dropped my backpack off in my room, went to York House, and got a porter to give me a shovel, a trash picker-upper-thing, and some garbage bags. Then I came back, pushed a dumpster up to our front door, and, using my tools like a good primate, shoveled the garbage into it. While I was doing this, one of the girls approached and asked, "Don't you have a broom?" This was about the last straw for me. "Why don't you see if you can find one?" I replied, and by the time I'd replaced the dumpster, returned the tools to York, and returned, she had done so and swept the last little bits (e.g., maggots) out the door. That was the last time I spoke to or even made eye contact with any of them. Here's to an awkward final two weeks!
It was another early morning for me. That's relative to the early mornings of many of you, I know, who commonly wake up as early as seven o'clock the previous night. As for myself, I enjoy my illusion that the sun comes up at nine. I meant to sleep on the bus, but I got to talking to this girl from UCI, Becca, and that kept me conscious throughout the drive. After this session is over, she's moving to Ireland where she'll be going to school for the next year, so... she's here for a good long while. Sinmi was also on this trip, as it happened, so the three of us ended up forming a unit, of which Becca (thankfully) was willing to take charge. The bus dropped us off at the coach park, from which we were led along a stream (and underneath "a very, very dangerous intersection") into town.
When we came to the entry gate to the cathedral grounds, which contain several buildings beside the cathedral, I heard a few people ask, "This is it? This is the cathedral?" Not exactly, no.
There's a ton of history in Canterbury Cathedral, as might be expected. The crypt was especially thick with it -- you can practically feel the weight of centuries pressing in on you -- but pictures aren't allowed in there. I was amazed at all the graffiti. I just can't believe anyone would think it's okay to write their initials on a stone column in such a place. That said, I will admit that it was pretty cool to find some markings that seemed nearly as old as the rest of the cathedral (carved into the stone, of course). There is also a treasure room of sorts down there, with glass cases full of silver chalices, alms plates, and so forth. I noticed that I was only interested in the old stuff. There was an interesting set of copper castings showing the major events of Christ's last days, but as soon as I saw they were made in the '60s they lost much of their appeal. I know that's not fair, but that's the kind of guy I am. Similarly, upstairs, I cruised past most of the "newer" memorials (i.e., anything after 1800) to get to the truly old ones. I mean, let's be honest, I can see things from the 1800s in the U.S., right? But to what extent has, say, 13th-century North American civilization left its mark on the world? Very little. I'm not saying that's good, but I am saying that I can't very well walk into a building and witness it.
Canterbury, on the other hand, oozes history. Most people know about it through Chaucer's Canterbury Tales, which is notable not just because of its literary merit but because it is perhaps the first recorded weather report in history (these are the jokes, people!), but the reason the Wife of Bath, the Miller, the Reeve, the Nun's Priest, and the rest were on a pilgrimage to Canterbury Cathedral in the first place was to pay their respects to Thomas Becket.
Becket, then Archbishop of Canterbury, was martyred in an odd and almost accidental way. He'd been giving Henry II some resistance over a disagreement about the role of the Church, and Henry II, ranting about the whole thing, bellowed, "Will no one rid me of this termagant priest?" (It should be mentioned that there are several versions of Henry II's exact words, including "turbulent priest" and "lowborn priest"; me, I like "termagant.") What the king didn't know was that four knights overheard him, and because they were energetic self-starters, they went to Canterbury and killed Becket in the cathedral. These events have been the subject of a great deal of literature, most prominently (to me) T.S. Eliot's play Murder in the Cathedral, which I once had the pleasure of seeing performed by the Mercury 7 Astronauts.
Canterbury Cathedral is also the resting place of some other historical figures, including Edward Plantagenet, aka "The Black Prince," the eldest son of King Edward III and father of Richard II, who, if I recall correctly, once traded his kingdom for a horse (crazy but true!!!). I managed to steal some education from a passing tour group on this one. We don't know why they called him the Black Prince; it could be that he wore black armor, or that the French hated him so much they sought to tar him with this evil epithet. Either way, it stuck. He was seen as the flower of English chivalry by his peers, and as a right jerk by any peasantry he casually ran down on his horse. Not an especially nice guy, as it turns out -- let's call him Lawful Neutral with Evil tendencies -- but devout as all get-out. His will set out in no uncertain terms the manner of his interment in the crypt of the cathedral, but the monks, possibly considering him too great a man to keep hidden in the crypt (or possibly anticipating the increased pilgrimage his tomb would generate in a more public space), put him upstairs instead. The rest of his wishes, however, were respected. Over his tomb is displayed a sword, a crown, a pair of plate gauntlets, and a doublet with his heraldic device.
Notice that his coat of arms includes both the lions of England and the fleur de lis of France. His father ruled over more land in France than in England, thus the mixture.
Speaking of which, right across from him is the tomb of his cousin, Henry IV, the titular character of Shakespeare's Henry IV. Henry and his French wife, Joan of Navarre, rest in the same plexiglass-shielded, iron-barred, rather inaccessible tomb.
In between these two is the original resting place of Thomas Becket, which was removed by Henry VIII because it "interrupted the flow of the room." When he wasn't marrying or subsequently beheading women, Henry VIII was big into interior decorating.
That said, the "backyard" is nearly as elaborate as the inside.
We couldn't stay there all day, of course; there's more to see in Canterbury than the cathedral. Well, relatively speaking, there kind of isn't, but we thought we'd go check it out anyway. We passed through the gift shop on the way out, and I once again silently cursed all of you for not being spoon or thimble collectors. Do you have any idea how much easier it'd be to shop for you people if you had a thing for spoons and/or thimbles?
Canterbury's a pretty small town, all things considered, so it didn't take much to find our next stop: The Canterbury Tales. This is a literary themed attraction in which a few of the Canterbury Tales are "dramatized" through various means. I'm tempted to say through animatronics, but none of the people really move, so... what does that make them? Mannequins? If so, fair enough.
It's extremely dark in there, and no flash photography is allowed, so my pictures all look about this bad. It's just as well, though because the true cheesiness of it can't be adequately captured on digital film. First you're greeted by a creepy, Gandalf-looking Chaucer, who paraphrases the prologue and introduces you to an even more harrowing depiction of Harry, the innkeeper who proposes the storytelling contest in the first place (the winner gets a rake). Only a few of the characters are represented, and each tells his or her story in a different medium, and in between you trudge from one room to another. The Miller is assisted by a bunch of flip-up two-dimensional panels and some other mannequins, and no detail is omitted from the story (to their credit). The Wife of Bath's tale is next, on which I once wrote a paper, and her tale is told through a series of illuminated images on a screen. After that is the Nun's Priest, whose monomedia presentation -- basically, him standing there talking in the same pose for eight minutes -- is a little on the slow side. And so on. They throw a little history and context in, too; the walk takes you past St. Thomas's tomb in the cathedral (which is more than can be said for the unfinished Canterbury Tales), and there's a bit at the end in a typical marketplace, then a final bit in a typical gift shop.
From there we stopped at a chain bookstore (I'm not sure why, but I discovered the remains of an ancient Roman bathhouse in the basement), the Canterbury Roman Museum (which featured a vintage computerized rendering, circa 1990, of a Roman villa), and an impulse buying frenzy at a fruit stand on the main drag.
The only thing left that we all wanted to see (well, at least two of us) was the ruin of the Norman castle, which was a bit further than we'd anticipated, but worth it.
On the way back to the bus, Becca and Sinmi felt a deep-seated need to visit the Winnie the Pooh shop, which we did, and then I took my final picture of the day.
So much for being shorter, huh?
Oh, one last thing. When I got home, the garbage in the entryway was still there, but messier. I asked the girls coming in behind me, "Why am I the only one bothered by this? Is this how the rest of you live at home -- with rotting garbage strewn all over your foyer?" They seemed to think it impossible that anything could be done about it, so I dropped my backpack off in my room, went to York House, and got a porter to give me a shovel, a trash picker-upper-thing, and some garbage bags. Then I came back, pushed a dumpster up to our front door, and, using my tools like a good primate, shoveled the garbage into it. While I was doing this, one of the girls approached and asked, "Don't you have a broom?" This was about the last straw for me. "Why don't you see if you can find one?" I replied, and by the time I'd replaced the dumpster, returned the tools to York, and returned, she had done so and swept the last little bits (e.g., maggots) out the door. That was the last time I spoke to or even made eye contact with any of them. Here's to an awkward final two weeks!
4 Comments:
nice. Canterbury is truly El Catedral FANTASTICO!
sounds like a great day
As for the trash, remember that no good deed goes unpunished (Mom)
I believe it was Richard III at Bosworth field, that was willing to trade his kingdom for a horse. You must have missed that Blackadder episode.
Re Thomas a Becket and Henry II, I also prefer the "termagant" version -- but have been unable to find a source for it. Do you know?
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