I've been near this instead.
Sorry about the long silence. I love you all, but...it was worth it.
So! Salisbury Cathedral (that's SOLZ-bury, or SOLZ-bree in the truly condensed pronunciation) has the tallest spire in the UK. It's incredibly old - going back to the 1100s and 1200s. Going by all the tombs and the amazing effigies was like a who's-who of important people throughout English history. The best part was that all the people who are buried in Salisbury Cathedral are the peripheral ones. You don't get Wolsey - but you do get his secretary. You don't get Edward III - but you do get a lord who fought with him at Crecy and Poitiers (only two of the three greatest English-over-French victories of all time). My two favorites were Lady Catherine Grey, Jane Grey's sister and lady-in-waiting to Elizabeth (and also a member of the Pregnant Maids of the Virgin Queen Club), and William Longespee, Earl of Salisbury and bastard brother to Richard and John (Lionheart and Magna Carta). Mommy, this is for you - you've read "Here Be Dragons." It's that Will. My heart practically stopped. His effigy is beautiful - traces of paint still on the stone.
There is an exception to the peripheral rule, however. And this one's for Mommy, too.
HORNBLOWER FOREVER!!!!
*If anyone did not get that reference, go out right now and find one of two books: either "Mr. Midshipman Hornblower" or "Beat to Quarters." Once you have found and bought them, take a few days off and read them. At that point you have a choice. You can: 1) leave a comment telling me how fantastic the books are and how grateful you are to me for telling you about them, 2) spend the next couple months finding and reading the entire Hornblower series, or 3) SPREAD THE LOVE. Actually, 3 is mandatory. Also? Find "Here Be Dragons." You won't regret that one either.*
Aaaaanyway...
Post-cathedral, we got Thai food for dinner. Helen, who had leaped right off the bus from Gatwick and onto the train to Salisbury, crashed and slept for the first time since 8 AM the previous morning. So our party left her at our adorable B&B and had fantastic dinner. Carina's search for the perfect spicy food remained unfulfilled, but it was still delicious. I tried a bite of hers and it practically burned my mouth off. So in part, I think it's just her. ;)
Then we went searching for a pub. We intended to go to the Haunch of Venison, the oldest pub in Salisbury (and supposedly haunted), but when we got there it was crowded and there was nowhere to sit. So we wound our way through the town (lovely and charming) until we got here:
The Wig and Quill, complete with hilarious pictures of constipated judges with upset stomachs and those wacky wigs! I had a Pimm's there (it's the classic British summer drink, so I'm told), and Doreen - you were right. IT IS HEAVEN. IN A GLASS. I've since ordered it every chance I got. WHY don't we make it stateside? Why do we deprive ourselves of such pure joy? WHY?!?!?! (I also did a shot of whiskey. Yummy!)
On Sunday...
Well, there really aren't words.
Yes, it was micromanaged and touristy. Yes, we had to take a bus instead of walking. Yes, we stayed on the track and couldn't get near the stones.
But you know what? I don't care. I didn't care. Because regardless of circumstances - steering to avoid people taking pictures, being surrounded by inane chatter, asking strangers to take pictures of me - there it was. And there I was, right by it.
And that means more than I can possibly say.
I wish the pictures did it justice. They can show you what it looks like from any angle you like. But they can't make you feel how it felt to stand on the plain with the sky blue and the clouds thick and gray, cold wind blowing strands of my hair straight out in front of me, and the stones there. Everyone talks about what a mystery Stonehenge is. I don't think it's that way at all. A mystery exists to be solved. Stonehenge isn't hiding anything - it is exactly what it is. It's straightforward. It's not a mystery to me.
But it is sacred. It's holy; it's magical. It is there to marvel at, to make you think of stark beauty that is not, quite, of this world. And that is so rare now that worship of that sort, unquestionable, unstoppable, unknowable, has come to be a mystery.
I don't want to know - I don't need to know. Feeling it seems more right to me. More worshipful. More fitting to a sacred place.
No comments:
Post a Comment