Oxford, England
by James G. Brueggermann
I’m in a rented morning suit, minus the hat. Looking down the slender nave of a church finished eight hundred years ago, with a man in a full suit of armor lying carved in stone one room over, I’m trying to get used to the idea that I’m supposed to read in here. Out loud, in public. We’re early, on purpose.
Tom, a friendly vestryman my age, takes me up the aisle to the place I’m to read from. It’s a carved dark oak lectern with two steps, halfway up on the right. People on both sides will be facing each other across the center aisle, he explains, except where the lectern looks directly across at the wedding party. A bit further up is where the priest will give her message and officiate the ceremony. When the time comes to do the witnessing, the priest will escort the couple and their parents all the way forward to sign the documents at the high altar, above the handwriting of the Archbishop of Canterbury. My neice had asked me to read at her wedding as her godfather. We worked it all out by email.
“Of course! I would love to,” I responded. “It will be an honor! Where will the wedding be?”
“At Christ Church Cathedral, in Oxford,” she replied. Where she and her fiancée teach and study.
My wife Carolyn and I were very excited. What a perfect opportunity to see Oxford, celebrate with family, tour the University, walk the Cotswolds.
It’s Henry VIII’s cathedral. He took the place from the Catholic Church about 500 years ago when there was a lot of fighting over property and ideas between monks and kings. Like now, except these days it’s between political parties, gangs and governments. Besides, there aren’t as many monks around, and hardly any kings.
After Tom’s briefing, I got a short course about the stone knight and the cathedral from Sally, an interested congregation member. The knight was important, but the place wasn’t about him. It was all about Frideswide.
Frideswide was the daughter of Oxford’s ruler in the 600’s. She took vows, started a convent and seemed to be doing fine until a nearby king decided to take her in marriage by force. When Frideswide prayed for her safety, the king (and/or his soldiers, depending on who’s telling the story) was struck blind at the Oxford gate. Once it all died down, Frideswide agreed to restore everyone’s vision on the condition they fully repent, which of course they did. She went back to running her priory. By the time she died, it had monks, nuns, a school and a convent church, the predecessor of this cathedral, in which they buried her.
In 1525, Cardinal Wolsey dissolved Frideswide’s priory in order to build himself a College in its place. It would be called, not surprisingly, Cardinal College. Unfortunately for Wolsey, he had a job-limiting problem, which was that, try as he might, he couldn’t get the Pope to annul Henry’s marriage to Catherine of Aragon.
But Henry really wanted that annulment. He sidelined Wolsey, proclaimed himself the Supreme Head of the Church of England, had his own Archbishop Cranmer make the annulment, married Anne Boleyn and got himself excommunicated by the Pope. Personally. After that, he dissolved the English monasteries and took their property, including Cardinal College which he renamed Christ Church. Which is where we are standing.
Back to Frideswide.. In 1553, a former nun named Catherine Dammartin died. She was the wife of a Protestant divinity professor working in the College at Christ Church. They buried her in the cathedral close to Frideswide, who had by this time been a saint for centuries.
Bloody Mary (Henry’s daughter with Catherine of Aragon) took the throne that year. High on her list was restoring England to Catholicism. On that agenda, Cardinal Pole ejected Catherine (the deceased now-Protestant former nun) from Saint Frideswide’s church, dumping her remains into a manure pile out behind the stables. Elizabeth I (Henry’s daughter with Anne Boleyn) was next in line for the throne when Bloody Mary died. Elizabeth was Protestant. Catherine was headed back inside.
Her remains were retrieved from behind the stables and mixed with the bones of Frideswide, in what must have been quite a service, right here in this very church. They were re-buried together beneath the floor, the Catholic saint and the Protestant married nun, not far from the stone knight.
I would read a passage from the Song of Solomon, my niece had said. She gave me the verses to rehearse.
“Set me as a seal upon your heart,” the middle part goes, “as a seal upon your arm; for love is strong as death, passion fierce as the grave.”
Wow. I wondered if Henry ever read that. I hoped so.
Love, death, passion, graves. They’re all here.
I needed to get calm. I wanted to read the words the way Solomon would have recited them, surely how the wedding party wants to hear them.
Tom the vestryman smiles. He sees I have the words typed out, slipped into a leather-like folder I can carry up to the lectern. I think he knows the folder will mask my shaking hands.
I step up behind the lectern. “OK. It’s time. Henry, are you there? I’m going to read now.”
If You Go:
Christ Church Cathedral
Christ Church Cathedral, Oxford
About the author:
James Brueggermann is a physician who practiced clinical neurology and medical administration. Since retiring in 2000, he has traveled with his wife in Europe, Asia and the Americas (independent travel as well as volunteering in Conversational English Teaching and Habitat for Humanity projects). He has compiled a group of about fifty personal essays, many of them travel-related, which are ready for publication. Since 1978 he has published personal essays, medical articles, prose poetry and haiku in Ars Medica, Group Practice Journal, Journal of Emergency Medicine, Medical Humanities, Modern Haiku, Minnesota Medicine, Perspectives in Biology and Medicine, Physician Executive Journal, Pudding Magazine and The Lutheran.
Photo credits:
Christ Church Cathedral interior by Diliff / CC BY-SA
Wilton’s, the world’s oldest surviving music hall, was opened in 1858. If its disintegrating walls could talk, they would have a few tales to tell. It began its life as a sailor’s club (and possibly a brothel); then became a music hall. The burlesque lyricist and performer, George Leybourne, aka Champagne Charlie stepped onto the stage here, as did the dancers of the risqué can-can (only to be promptly banned). Sadly, Wilton’s only initially survived a short 20 years as a music hall. In 1877, the hall had to be rebuilt after a disastrous fire. Soon after, this place of twilight glamour was closed down and it took on a series of very different functions from Methodist mission hall, soup kitchen, refugee centre, safe house (from the fascists) to a sorting house for rags.
It’s an almost impossible task, and the building (in its unsafe state) has come very close to closure. When I was there, I could see daylight appearing through the rafters in places. There were unsafe electrics, leaking plumbing, and floorboards in the bar so rotten that the number of people permitted at any one time restricted. The whole of the second floor was boarded up, unfit for public use. Even the stone walls were eroding in places. Yet, it’s this forgotten, neglected state that’s given Wilton’s its indescribable atmosphere. It has the feel of Miss Havisham’s mansion in Great Expectations – as if someone had stopped the clock on time and left the building in a state of decaying beauty.
I head upstairs and into the Great Hall. I’ve walked into a Victorian fable. From the gallery a hundred fairy-lights cascade outwards from the centre of the ceiling. Yet more fairy-lights line the gallery’s railings. Pastel frescos fill the peeling walls between great arches. The gilt banister is decorated with delicate, intricate detail. A red silk curtain drapes the stage. Musician and artiste Duke Special enters the stage, eyes black with kohl, long dreadlocks, draping shirt cuffs and velvet jacket. To his left sits a string quartet: Behind him a projector screen. For two hours, he sings and plays the piano – songs he has written to accompany the black and white photos of the renowned early twentieth century American photographers, Stieglitz, Steichen and Strand. The music (commissioned by the Met Museum in New York) is heart-wrenchingly moving, the images haunting. The beauty and timelessness of the music and the photographic images fit perfectly in this magical, ethereal building. A great deal of thought is put into the theatre pieces and concerts that are produced at Wilton’s. The art, like the building, is sumptuous. So the next time you are in London, take the tube out to Wapping and to Wilton’s Music Hall and step back in time. Book a tour, or better still, one of their exceptional shows. You won’t regret it.
Skara Brae, a prehistoric village that was built before the Egyptian pyramids, has been listed as one of the “Heart of Neolithic Orkney” World Heritage Sites, and it illustrates a perfect example as to why the Orkney Islands have often been referred to as “The Egypt of the North.”
Skara Brae is approximately 5,000 years old and is located about eight miles away from the small town of Stromness on the southern shore of the Bay O’ Skaill. Although it was originally thought that the site was a Pictish village, researchers now believe that the settlement was actually an Orcadian village that was inhabited between the years of 3200 and 2200 BC.
It is believed that Skara Brae was big enough to hold about 50 to 100 villagers at any given time, and that it was inhabited for approximately 600 years.
The villagers also used volcanic pumice that could have been washed up on the shore from Iceland to help shape the bone tools and stone balls, and over 2,400 inscribed beads and hundreds of bone necklaces were found in one of the stone cupboards as well. It is believed that many of these objects resembled one’s symbol of status or may even have been used for ritualistic purposes. It is also thought that the dressers which were sitting directly across from the doorway were used to “show off” any prized possessions and/or hunting trophies whenever a visitor entered the home.
Because many belongings and artifacts were left behind in the village and stored carefully away in the cupboards, some believe that Skara Brae was abandoned because of an “apocalyptic” event and/or disaster which forced the villagers to flee their home.
The information board also had a map showing the route of St. Oswald’s Way (97 miles, 156 kilometers), which stretches from the church to the north-east coast locations associated with St. Oswald. We had largely covered that route over the previous few days with our hosts, Paul and Laura: taking in the medieval castle of Warkworth near Amble, and the picturesque coastal villages of Alnwick and Seahouses. Further up the coast we marveled at Bamburgh, which has a history every bit as intriguing as the castle is majestic. It was chosen as the home of the Anglo-Saxon royalty ruling Northumbria in the seventh century.
The Holy Island of Lindisfarne is still well worth a visit. A priory resident on the island since the 7th century and a 16th century castle provide stimulating landmarks as well as great views of the Farne Islands farther out at sea and the mainland to the south. On a clear day the volcanic rock that supports the castle provides an ideal promontory for relaxing and dozing under the sun to absorb the harmonious mixture of rich island history and fresh sea air. The mystique of the island is maintained by its natural seclusion: the causeway that links the island to the mainland is submerged by sea twice a day when the tide is in. It is wise to check safe times to travel on the causeway with the tourist board before making the journey.
“Having completely transformed the soldiers, in royal fashion, he made for Britain, where he set right many things and – the first to do so – drew a wall along a length of eighty miles to separate barbarians and Romans.” (The Augustan History, Hadrian 11.1)
Continuing west the next highlight was Chesters; near the village of Chollerford. It is the best preserved Roman cavalry fort in Britain. There are extensive foundations on view here, as well as the structure of a commandant’s house and the multi-roomed military bath-house. A museum houses Roman artifacts found in archaeological digs on the site.
It was now mid-afternoon, so we decided to make the Procolitia fort the final destination on our westward Hadrian’s Wall hike, as we also had to walk back to the campsite near Acomb; across the valley from Hexham. Three miles later we arrived at Procolitia to find that it is now a car park! However, the extra miles were not in vain, as behind the car park there is the mithraeum: a temple to Mithras, the Persian sun god that the Romans imported into Britain.
One third of the world’s population tuned in to watch the Royal Wedding coverage on TV, and nearly one million people took to the streets of London on Friday, April 29th just to be at the epicenter of all the festivities. Luckily for me, I was one of those people.
Believe it or not, when Kate was growing up in Bucklebury, England she used to have posters of Prince William and Prince Harry hanging up in her bedroom. Little did she know that a few years down the road she would end up meeting her beloved Prince William while studying at St. Andrews University in Scotland and end up becoming his wife nearly ten years later.
I woke up at the crack of dawn (6 a.m. to be exact) just so I could grab a good spot along the royal carriage route near Buckingham Palace. (Not being a particularly upbeat morning person I was committed to waking up early because I spent close to $100 USD so I could stay at a centrally-located hostel).
I talked to one Londoner who said he was in London celebrating Charles and Diana’s wedding in 1981 and felt that it was only right to attend William and Kate’s wedding 30 years later…only this time he was celebrating with his daughter.
As the start of the ceremony edged closer and closer we started to see cars driving wedding guests and buses of foreign royals being escorted to Westminster Abbey. The ones who were smart enough to bring radios with them were listening through their headphones and shouting out reports about who was in the vehicle. Word started to spread that we would soon see members of the royal family being escorted to the service.
People were shoving each other and getting their cameras ready, and some children in the crowd broke out into tears because the atmosphere was so intense.
