To Canterbury I Went, The Bluebirds Over Dover For To Seek

(If that makes no sense to you, blame Geoffrey Chaucer–or his translator.    )

Kent is a lovely place, even on a cloudy day; it’s little wonder, I think, that they call it the “garden of England.”  Rolling green hills, horses and sheep (domesticated, of course!), and, naturally, wildflowers.

Nestled among all this nature are at least two equally-charming towns (though neither are as charming as my little corner of the country):  Dover, best-known for its white cliffs, and Canterbury, made famous by Geoffrey Chaucer in his Canterbury Tales.

The premise of the book, see, is this:  these twelve (or so) completely different sets of folk set off for Canterbury Cathedral to pay homage to St. Thomas Á Beckett, who was murdered there.  And the spot has attracted tourists ever since.

Cathedrals are neat buildings because they’re not just buildings, but buildings built in man’s attempt to glorify God–or, at the very least, reflect his glory for reasons of their own.  They’re always magnificent, lofty, grand.  Their stained glass drops your jaw on an ordinary day, but on sunny days simply takes your breath away!  The statues are intricate, the gilding golden, and the ceilings vaulted.  Canterbury Cathedral is no exception; in fact, it’s quite exceptional, because even as it remains a huge draw for tourists, it also seems to maintain the message of the gospel.  I can’t promise that it does, because I didn’t get to stay for a service, you know, and I’m wary of making a judgment like that without seeing for myself–you must understand.  But, I was encouraged to find that their mission statement was not only posted, but Biblical–and shame on me for not noting the reference, but it was something about sharing the message of Jesus–a good start.

And it just so happens that I was not the only American in attendance today; in fact, the Georgia Southern University’s chorale was there to perform a short programme during my visit, so I had a sit and listen.  I’m so glad I did.  Because, while there were the token show-off songs chosen because they’re in Latin or they sound great in a vaulted space, they also had a couple of ringers.  “Fairest Lord Jesus” was one of them (except they called it “Beautiful Saviour”–same thing); I would have loved to have joined them there, but I didn’t know that anyone would have appreciated my interruption.  But when they ended with “A Mighty Fortress,” I became a fan.  It was really all I could do not to sing along on that one, honest to goodness, especially the part about “the battle would be losing / were not the right Man on our side, / a Man of God’s own choosing.”  Almost as good as “Amazing Grace” on the banks of the Thames after a baptism. 

So it was on that note that I left Canterbury for Dover–just to see the cliffs.  And to listen to Glenn Miller’s orchestra play “There’ll Be Bluebirds Over the White Cliffs of Dover” on my iPod while seeing them.

I did just that, in fact, but I didn’t stop there.  I actually walked on them, too!  It was a bit of a steep grade at first, but once you get to the top it’s flat–and today it was foggy and overcast, so no one else was about and I rather felt as if I could have done anything–like sing as loudly as I liked–and no one would hear.

But I couldn’t think of what to sing, so I didn’t.

I had the question put to me the other day:  Why do I go all these places alone?  It’s a very valid question, and I didn’t have a good answer.  I still don’t.  It’s certainly not because it’s funner to do it that way.  It would be especially nice to have friends on the trains, because that’s prime time to talk and get to know each other and stuff.  It’s not safer, either, though the careful are generally all right.  (I haven’t had a lick of trouble!)  My best excuse is that when I plan these things I figure that everyone else already has plans laid out, so instead of offering to interrupt them I opt to assume they already have plans and don’t even bother asking if they do.  I just don’t like to be any trouble.

You could also make the argument that it’s good alone-time, just you and your thoughts; but, these days, my thoughts aren’t good enough company; they sure know how to suck all the fun out of a pretty landscape, what with reminders of a certain day, and people left behind…