May 29

May 29 Canterbury

“ Each one of you shall help to make things slip By telling two stories on the outward trip To Canterbury, that’s what I intend. . . .

And then the man whose story is best told, That is to say who gives the fullest measure Of good morality and general pleasure, He shall be given supper, paid by all, Here in this tavern, in this very hall.”

— Geoffrey Chaucer, The Canterbury Tales (1400)

“People are watching, people who stare
Waiting for something that’s already there
”Tomorrow I’ll find it”, the trumpeter screams
And remembers he’s hungry, and drowns in his dreams”

— Why Are We Sleeping?, Soft Machine (Part of the Canterbury Scene 1968)

I’ve read Geoffrey Chaucer’s The Canterbury Tales (twice), so the time had come to follow in the footsteps of the 30 fictional pilgrims who left London on a liminal pilgrimage to Canterbury, England, hoping to pay homage to Thomas Becket, the Archbishop of Canterbury who was assassinated in 1170 after he excommunicated Gilbert Foliot, Bishop of London, Josceline de Bohon, Bishop of Salisbury, and Roger de Pont L ‘Évêque, Archbishop of York. The three had crowned Henry the Young King in June 1170, usurping the power reserved to Becket, as Archbishop of Canterbury. In Becket’s mind, excommunication was necessary to preserve his powers.

According to historian Simon Schama, the King was heard to utter, “What miserable drones and traitors have I nourished and brought up in my household, who let their lord be treated with such shameful contempt by a low-born cleric?” Four knights took the utterance as an order to kill Becket. While accounts differ, one of the more reliable ones paints a gory scene.

The four—Reginald FitzUrse, Hugh de Morville, William de Tracy, and Richard le Breton—confronted Becket on December 29, 1170, near the Cathedral’s monastic cloister. As they grabbed him, Beckett clutched a pillar, bowing his head to make peace with God. Using a sword, one of the knights struck a blow that separated Becket’s crown (the top portion of the scalp) from his head. A fifth person then stepped on Becket’s neck, spraying Becket’s brains and blood over the floor. Legend has it that one of the knights then ran a dagger through what remained of Becket’s head, finishing the job.

Two years later, Pope Alexander III canonized Becket as a martyr. With that act, Canterbury Cathedral’s cachet increased significantly, making it a popular pilgrimage site.

By the time Henry VIII came to power, Becket’s body had been relocated several times to avoid theft. In 1220, his bones were moved to a bejeweled shrine behind Trinity Chapel’s altar. The opulence proved too enticing for Henry VIII, who had the jewels carted off. At some point, Becket’s bones were lost to history, meaning that they are not in the Cathedral’s crypt, as might otherwise be expected.

Given modernity, I didn’t have time to reread even one of the tales in Chaucer’s classic and most famous work. The train ride from London’s St. Pancras Rail Station to Canterbury is a quick one—less than an hour, making for an easy day trip from London. Plus, like a dog, I like to look out the window as the landscape passes by.

Upon arrival, I headed straight for the Cathedral, which is a ten-minute walk from the train station, assuming no dawdling at the many pubs, taverns, and shops lining Canterbury’s High Street—although after the long journey in medieval times who could blame a pilgrim for stopping for ale and a mutton chop.

About 15 years ago, I visited Salisbury Cathedral, which is a 90-minute drive from London. While it is an impressive structure and worth a visit, it was not as large (at least in my memory), nor as complex of a structure as Canterbury Cathedral, which is more of walled village than a singular structure towering over the countryside filled with grazing sheep. While I normally skip guided tours, I am glad I opted for the 90-minute tour of the Cathedral. Without it, I would have missed important parts of the complex. Equally important, the guide was knowledgeable and well spoken, meaning that as I gazed on the stone and glass, I had the context for what I was seeing and photographing.

Before entering the grand structure, I stood outside looking up. The now familiar sense of disappointment that often accompanies visits to historical structures rushed over me. A good chunk of the Cathedral was under scaffolding, which meant I would not be able to create the perfect photograph, at least by tourist standards. But then the words of Saul Leiter passed through my mind—”Don’t move it, shoot through it.” In other words, photograph what you see, not what you want to see.

While I gazed up at the scaffolding, I realized that the Cathedral has been in an ongoing state of decay since it was first built centuries ago. The scaffolding is not in a discordant relationship with the Cathedral, but rather a harmonious one. Only one question remained: How could I convert the scaffolding into a positive visual attribute. Its geometry proved to be the key; that matrix of steel pipes and boards.

In one sense, the Cathedral dates to 596, when Pope Gregory I ordered Augustine of Canterbury to convert Anglo-Saxons to Catholicism. To aid his effort, Augustine—not be confused with St. Augustine of Hippo—founded the Cathedral in 597. Sometime between 800 and 1000, the original structure was replaced. Shortly thereafter, a Benedictine abbey was incorporated into the complex, which meant the Cathedral was then endowed with the wealth that Benedictines possessed.

The Cathedral was destroyed by fire in 1067, which simply meant a new structure was erected—this time in a cruciform, with a nave comprised of nine bays, and a pair of towers. The architect chose Caen limestone for as the basic material. It is still imported from France for repairs and replacements. But the east-end of the new structure did not last long. It was demolished, and then replaced by a new 198-foot wing that was completed by 1126.

Over the subsequent centuries, various portions of the Cathedral were rebuilt, in one case because of significant damage from an earthquake. In fact, the Klaus Riungwald’s statue of Christ that greets visitors who pass through the outer gate to the Cathedral is one of the newest additions, added in 1990. While I walked the grounds, I encountered an employee with a camera. She was photographing a window that had just been reinstalled after it was blown out during a windstorm.

The current Cathedral has survived two attacks. The first occurred in 1642, during the English Civil War. Puritans who opposed icons cleansed the Cathedral by destroying statues, smashing stained-glass windows, and demolishing gates. Miracuously, several stained-glass panels were reassembled. If I heard the guide correctly, those panels represent the oldest stained-glass in existence.

Rampaging Puritans runs counter to the stories about the Puritans who came to America, landing at Plymouth Rock. Not as peaceful as my Eighth-grade teacher, Mr. Nenning, had lead me to believe.

The second attack was ordered by Hitler, who targeted English cultural sites—he is said to have used a tourist guidebook for target selection, which is why Hitler’s effort is dubbed the ‘Baedeker Raids.’ On June 1, 1942, the Germans dropped 16 incendiary bombs, targeting the Cathedral’s roof. Four men, who were designated ‘fire watchers,’ rushed to the roof at considerable risk to themselves, removing the incendiary bombs before they ignited. This attack was said to have been in reprisal for the British one two days earlier on the medieval city of Cologne.

I spent about five hours in the Cathedral complex, which was sufficient. I then headed over to St. Augustine’s Abbey, which was founded in 598 by St. Augustine. It is a historic site largely comprised of ruins. The surviving intact buildings were sold off, so while I could see them, I couldn’t go inside.

I spent about an hour walking through the ruins. The site offers an audio guide, but given my limited time, I passed on that even though it was included in the admission charge. I can’t say it was a memorable experience in terms of the facility, but it was a lovely afternoon for an outdoor walk in a large, very verdant field.

For dinner, I stopped at the Corner House Restaurant, a short walk from the Abbey. I opted for the flat iron steak, which was excellent. My companion chose a pumpkin, tofu dish. Also excellent.

It was then time to catch the train returning to London. As I walked back to the train station, I knew I had misjudged Canterbury by opting for a day trip. It is worth an overnight stay. The city appears to have a lively arts scene, a river for punting, and some interesting shops and taverns. Well, as the old saying goes, “Once a pilgrim, always a pilgrim.” Maybe I will return on my next visit to London. In the meantime, it is time to rewatch Becket, with Richard Burton and Peter O’Toole.

[Click on an Image to Enlarge It. The Images Are Not Necessarily in Exact Chronological Order]