UK Travel - Part 15

Exploring the Great Castles of North Wales

by Roy A. Barnes

The country of Wales may only be small, but every nook and cranny is full of history. 500-plus castles can be found in this part of the United Kingdom, in various degrees of disrepair and/or restoration, often seen on the hillsides as one speeds down the busy motorways. I explored five really special ones, coming away with a greater appreciation of Welsh history and its people.

A sense of déjà vu at Conwy Castle

The coastal city of Conwy, about 45 minutes drive from Manchester’s airport, proudly displays its old medieval walls, many of which can be walked on. Three gateways remain standing in the city that dates back from the time of Edward I and his post-conquest activities of North Wales in 1282. But even more conspicuous is the UNESCO World Heritage Site Conwy Castle [TOP PHOTO].

When it was built from 1283-1289, it was at great expense (some £15,000 – equivalent to £15 million today) to help serve as one of his “Iron Ring” castles that helped to keep the English safe in Wales while fortifying his new empire there. The exterior and interior walls remain relatively intact, and I found them to be quite an experience walking through the various rooms from the king’s chamber, dining hall, kitchen, and prison. I felt as if I were back in medieval times, especially when I went inside the castle chapel, where the soundtrack of Gregorian monks was playing in the midst of displays about Christianity’s role in that time. I also was fascinated by the countless arrow slits carved into the walls, expecting a shooter to be taking aim.

Two fortified gateways and eight towers help make up the grandness of this place. Four of them contain high towers where I got stunning views of the city, sea, and Conwy Mountain. And as I walked up the spiraling staircases to get those views with only the help of ropes to keep me from falling, I could feel a sense of “home sweet home” in each part of the structure, despite its massive size overall, where now the only “royals” taking up residence there are pigeons and gulls.

Bodelwyddan Castle: a National Portrait Galley hub

Even though Wales is famous for medieval castles, one such “mock” castle off the A55 motorway (a 30 minute drive from the Welsh border) is notable. It serves as an outpost for London’s National Portrait Galley: Bodelwyddan Castle. Bodelwyddan stands on land where property ownership purportedly goes back before the time of the Norman Conquest, and has recorded history dating from 1461, when the Humphreys family got this land as compensation for being booted off the Isle of Angelsey by Edward IV. From 1830-1850, the prominent Sir John Williams led the creating of an old time castle, including adding limestone walls, which actually were heated to protect the fruit orchards during cold weather.

My senses took in the pastoral surroundings of Bodelwyddan on a partly cloudy and blustery day as I walked up the hill, noticing mature parkland where sheep were snacking on grass. Surrounding the castle is an array of well-manicured gardens and footpaths where the sound of singing blackbirds in the beech and oak trees interrupted the whistling of the gusts. Once inside the castle, I was immediately greeted by a large painting of Queen Victoria. This branch of the National Portrait Gallery stresses Victorian Era portraits of prominent British people, hung in rooms that were restored in the 1980s to emulate the reserved opulence of the Victorian lifestyle. The library itself copies that time with more fakery – painted books for the library and wood panelling that’s really painted plaster, known as “trompe l’oeil,” French for “trick the eye.” Yet real Victorian furnishings do abound here, from furniture to a grand 1840s billiard table as well as a Williams silver centrepiece made that’s insured for £250,000.

For the kids, there’s an interactive games and dress up area on the third floor of the home, which happens to get the most reports of paranormal activity.

Stand where Prince Charles once stood at Caernarfon Castle

If you want to know just how hard life was for the common man back then, just visit a medieval fortress like Caernarfon Castle on a cold and rainy morning like I did. As I walked through its long passageways and explored the interior rooms whose walls are still intact some 700 years after being built, the chill and drafts went through my layered clothing to my bones. Much of the castle walls, both interior and exterior, remain intact from the time they were constructed between 1283-1330. After Edward I conquered Wales, he imagined a grand castle based on the dream of Roman emperor Magnus Maximus (whose body was found in the area). Maximus envisioned such a place located within a city amidst mountains and opposite an island (matching Caernarfon’s description), so James of Saint George was put in charge of building in this “dream city.”

The king also fashioned the polygonal and colored band walls (some twenty feet thick) after those of Constantinople to serve as the “capital” of North Wales, even creating a new town, destroying the old Welsh settlement. Locals were conscripted as manpower, and were paid in silver pennies.

Despite all the expense, many of the plans for it never materialized, and it shows today as I noted the various stones sticking out of walls for future development. Normally, the castle had 20-40 people defending it in its early days. What made the castle easier to defend were the ingenious way that three soldiers with bow and arrows could be stationed to shoot through what appeared on the inside of the castle to be three arrow slits, but in effect, those three arrows would come out through just one slit in the outer wall of this UNESCO World Heritage Site.

Caernarfon was once a motte and bailey castle (castle on a mound surrounded by a courtyard). This mound still resides within the courtyard as a dais made of Welsh slate, and was the scene of two Princes of Wales getting their official titles, that being Edward VIII in 1911 and then Prince Charles in 1969. The northeast tower has an extensive exhibit of those two investitures, including Charles’ BBC telecast. Charles immediately walked through the Queen’s Gate to greet his subjects, something which I got to do, as a special balcony still remains for photo opps.

I got even more appreciation of Welsh castle history at Caernarfon Castle via a 20-plus minute feature film called the “Eagle and the Dragon,” where actors dressed in medieval period costumes stages some reenactments, and still photos helped history visually come alive. It’s located in the Eagle Tower, where the king would reside when he was in Caernarfon, and which was protected above by a cluster of high turrets that can be explored. The King’s room itself was grand, and did contain a personal chapel and fireplace to help fend off the chill. The Queen’s Tower also has remnants of nicer accommodations, and it’s here where many artifacts and exhibits on the history of the Welsh armies are featured.

Splurge on the “Grey Lady” ghost at Ruthin Castle

While the Vale of Clwyd is at the bottom of some incredible footpaths with steep angles going up hundreds of feet in the Clwydian Hills that’ll challenge any hiker, the town of Ruthin (an hour’s drive from Manchester) has a castle with the same namesake that’s located just above the base of the valley. It sits on grounds once allegedly housing a fort where King Arthur kept a little “love nest” for one of his mistresses dating before the Norman conquest, but it’s confirmed date for a standing edifice dates back to 1277, when Edward I secured it for his kingdom against the rebellious Welsh.

Though much of the castle wall remain intact despite the 11 weeks of shelling it withstood during the English Civil War in 1646 plus subsequent neglect, improvements were made during Queen Victoria’s reign. I found improvements outdoors, but also indoors via the décor on the inside that tries to imitate the Victorian Era, especially with the as “trompe l’oeil” wallpaper jobs that can be found in the spacious rooms that contain all the modern conveniences medieval kings would deem as sorcery: big screen TVs, free internet access, and electronic heat control.

I explored what was left of the medieval fortifications by walking around the old walls, and was greeted by some of the 16 peacocks who live there and wail away while the sun is up. I also went to the gravesite of the “grey lady,” who was buried after being executed for killing the lover of her husband, one of the commanders of Edward I. I didn’t see anything mid-afternoon, so I waited until dusk to try to find this poor soul, but alas, she was no where to be found.

If You Go:

♦ Conwy Castle: www.castlewales.com/conwy.html
♦ Caernarfon Castle www.castlewales.com/caernarf.html
♦ Bodelwyddan Castle: www.bodelwyddan-castle.co.uk/
♦ Ruthin Castle: www.ruthincastle.co.uk
♦ Visit Wales: www.visitwales.com

About the author:
Roy A. Barnes attended a press trip sponsored by Visit Wales, but what he wrote were his own impressions without any scrutiny or vetting by the sponsor. The author resides in Cheyenne, Wyoming, and is a frequent contributor to Travel Thru History.

All photos are credited to Roy A. Barnes, and may not be used without permission:
1. Conwy Castle
2. Bodelwyddan Castle
3. Caernarfon Castle: Inside walls
4. Ruthin Castle: Medieval Victorian Exteriors
5. Ruthin Castle: Medieval walls and Peacock

The Quest for the Book of Kells

Ireland and Scotland

by Troy Herrick

After six years, I arrived in Dublin under gray overcast skies. The quest was about to be completed; the circle was about to be closed and loose ends tied together. With the Indiana Jones theme playing in my mind, I was all set to gaze upon the most decorated manuscript to survive from the Early Middle Ages in Europe – the Book of Kells.

Old Library, Trinity College Dublin – 2012

Anticipation slowly rose as I traversed each room, stopping to read every detail about this holy book and its convoluted history. Entering the dimly lit Treasury Room at the end of the hall, I discovered four books displayed inside a glass case. The Book of Kells, divided into two tomes, was accompanied by the Book of Durrow and the Book of Armagh. Clearly the jewel in the crown was the four Gospels assembled into the Book of Kells.

Visitors see four vellum pages of this ancient manuscript – one volume open at a major decorated page and the other open to show two text pages with smaller decorations. As I studied the detail of each image with naked eye, I wished that I had a magnifying glass to better appreciate the complexity of design. I envisioned cross-eyed monks drawing each image using only a quill.

As many as ten different colours have been utilized in these illustrations. Many of these pigments had been imported from the farthest corners of the world almost 1200 years ago. The lapis lazuli in particular came from the area that is now present-day Afghanistan. One can only imagine the exorbitant cost of these paints given that this region of Europe was at the end of the trade routes. Furthermore the island of Iona in Scotland, where work on the Book of Kells began, was quite isolated at that time. Suddenly I had a flashback to the island of Iona in Scotland.

Iona, Scotland – 2006

A chilly wind and a gray overcast sky greeted Diane and me as we set foot on Iona, the birthplace of Christianity in Scotland. St Columba (Colmcille) and twelve companions founded the first monastery here in 563 CE. Almost nothing remains of that original settlement because it had been replaced by St. Mary’s Cathedral, a Benedictine abbey church dating to 1200 CE. You might be surprised to find that this is a working abbey today, operated by an ecumenical community known as the Iona Commonwealth.

Set outside the abbey church to the left of the front door, you find a little greyish brown stone building known as St. Columba’s Shrine. Reconstructed in 1962, the lower portion of this structure may date to the 8th century. Tradition holds that St. Columba’s relics were once housed in this structure (he died in 597 CE and his relics were divided between Scotland and Ireland).

A short distance in front of St. Columba’s Shrine, you find St. John’s Cross. This is a copy of an 8th century high cross displayed in the nearby Monks’ Infirmary now serving as a museum. The original cross was painstakingly reconstructed from fragments found on site. Another item of note in the museum is St. Columba’s Pillow, a stone with a ringed cross carved into it. This treasure is stored inside a small metal cage. There is no proof that the saint’s head ever rested on this pillow however.

Also associated with 8th century Iona is the Book of Kells. Columban monks began transcribing the Gospels around the year 800 CE but never completed them on site. The monks were displaced from Iona in 802 CE when Vikings torched the monastery. Returning to Ireland accompanied by their precious work-in-progress, the monks settled in Kells in 804 CE to re-establish another Columban monastery founded by the saint in 550 CE. Almost twelve centuries later, Diane and I followed them to the Emerald Isle and Kells.

Kells, County Meath, Ireland – 2012

It was déjà vu all over again; a chilly wind and a gray overcast sky greeted Diane and me at St. Columba’s Church in Kells. This church, set on the site of the original Monastery of Kells, dates to 1778. The churchyard also contains a number of high crosses and a 26-meter round tower all dating back to the early monastic period and the arrival of the Book of Kells.

Round towers were a symbol of a monastery’s power in early Ireland, often serving as bell towers and repositories for sacred items. At the same time, the “conspicuous” towers identified monasteries as attractive targets for the pagan Vikings. The Norsemen raided the monastery at Kells several times during the 10th century.

During times of attack, the monks retreated inside the round tower through an entrance 3-4 meters off the ground and then pulled up the ladder. Paradoxically these towers do not appear to be very defensible because all the Vikings had to do was build a large fire below the doorway and smoke the occupants out.

History does not record that the Book of Kells was ever part of any Viking booty but it was stolen by the locals in 1009 from a small church that once existed in the churchyard. The book was eventually recovered but the cover was damaged beyond repair and had to be replaced.

Learning their lesson, the monks constructed St. Colmcille’s House across the street from the present day churchyard as a more secure location for their precious manuscript and the relics of St. Columba. This dimly lit, empty stone building served as a monk’s dwelling and a scriptorium. The monk’s sleeping quarters in the loft above is still accessible by ladder.

The holy book remained in Kells for over 800 years until 1653 when it was transferred to Trinity College in Dublin. Since the mid 19th century, the Book of Kells has been on public display in the Old Library and now Diane and I had the opportunity to see this historical treasure in Dublin and complete the quest.

Boyne Valley Hill of Tara and Kells Private Tour from Dublin

If You Go:

The Book of Kells Exhibition is located in the Old Library at Trinity College in Dublin. Admission was 9 Euros. Check out the Trinity College website for more details. Visitors are not permitted to photograph the Book of Kells.

Purchase the Heritage Island Tour Guide at the nearest Tourist Information Office for a discounted admission to the Book of Kells exhibit. www.heritageisland.com

Admission to Iona Abbey is £4.70

St. Columba’s Church of Ireland is located on R 163 in the center of Kells, just west of the intersection of N3 and N52. Admission to the churchyard is free.

St. Colmcille’s House – for admission, follow the directions provided on the gate. Admission is free but a tip is customary. For more information about Ireland, visit www.plan-a-dream-trip.com/discover-ireland.html. and Scotland, visit www.plan-a-dream-trip.com/scotland-tours.html Plan your vacation at: www.plan-a-dream-trip.com

Photographs:

All photographs are by Diane Gagnon. A freelance photographer, she has traveled extensively in North America, the Caribbean, Europe and parts of South America.

Contributor’s Bio:

Troy Herrick, a freelance travel writer, has traveled extensively in North America, the Caribbean, Europe and parts of South America. His articles have appeared in Live Life Travel, International Living, Offbeat Travel and Travels Thru History Magazines. He also penned the travel planning e-book entitled ”Turn Your Dream Vacation into Reality: A Game Plan for Seeing the World the Way You Want to See It” – www.thebudgettravelstore.com/page/76972202 based on his own travel experiences over the years. Herrick’s articles are in Live Life Travel, Offbeat Travel and Travel Thru History magazines.

Glasgow, Scotland: Rough, Tough and Mean?

A Tree, The Bird, The Fish And The Bell: A Boy, A Church And A Cemetery

by Helen Moat

Think of Glasgow and what do you think of: the Glasgow kiss (a greeting with a head butt), alcohol-fueled street brawls, sectarian violence between Celtic and Rangers supporters and thick, threatening, indecipherable accents. You might think of a sprawling urban mess, notoriously dysfunctional high-rise flats, 70s concrete monstrosities and dark, forbidding sandstone Victorian tenement buildings and other utilities blackened by decades of pollution. Poverty.

You might think of bad, bad food: iron brew, a nuclear-orange sugar-fueled drink, the deep-fried Mars bars (surely an urban myth?), bloody black pudding, haggis consisting of the parts most butchers throw away, flat sausages, 90% fat and 10% meat, and sugar-packed cakes. Early death.

London it isn’t – nor Edinburgh. There’s nothing twee, contrived, touristy or pretty-pretty about Glasgow. Glasgow is down-to-earth, has real character. It’s smart, gritty, witty, vibrant and alive. It’s the genuine article.

Glasgow has had its ups and downs. It’s easy to forget it was once called the ‘Empire’s second city,’ it was a thriving industrial city full of sea merchants, shipbuilders, tradesmen, entrepreneurs, inventors, ground-breaking scientists, artists and intellects.

Nowhere is this more evident than at the Necropolis in the Cathedral Quarter. I went there as a tourist and unwittingly returned my father-in-law to the place of his birth, finding myself touching a personal past. I had no idea. He lived in the shadows of the Cathedral and the atmospheric Victorian cemetery, a child of poverty among Glasgow’s great and good.

The cathedral area was Alan’s stamping ground. The gates of the Necropolis were kept locked, no doubt to keep young scallywags like him out. Hardly a deterrent, the street kids scaled the railings and crept in regardless, sometimes tearing their clothes on the railings. Once they dared each other to enter the cemetery after dark. They crept through Celtic crosses, obelisks, toppled urns, headless statues and mausoleums. They crept past writers (including the author of Wee Willie Winkie) and sculptors, rich industrialists, sea merchants and esteemed churchmen and a towering John Knox. Near the bottom, they saw a shadowy old woman attired in black. They glanced away and looked back again to find she was gone. The boys scarpered. My father-in-law, a man not usually given to flights of fancy, swears she was a ghost.

The Necropolis lies on a hill overlooking the city. All of Glasgow stretched out before us: the Tennent’s brewery close by, isolated tenement blocks, smaller brick-built houses, concrete offices and wind turbines on the moors, far on the horizon. Alan pointed out the place where his tenement home had once stood, long gone now. It had survived an incendiary bomb during the war (His mother, an ARP warden, had hosed down the fire in the attic herself) only for the building to be later demolished.

Atop the hill, a Victorian high-rise city of the dead, Glasgow’s elite sought to outdo their neighbour: with the largest family vault, the highest monument, the best quality stone, the most detailed mason work, the grandest sculpture or the finest inscription.

The gravestones are filled with story and history. I could have spent hours there uncovering lives like John Ronald Ker’s: accidentally drowned while shooting wildfowl from a small boat off Contyre of Ronaghan at the early age of 21 – of a generous and amiable disposition and endearing qualities which made him so agreeable a companion, so good and true a friend. (July 1868)

Making our way back down the hill, Alan showed us a wall with a 30 foot vertical drop. He and his pals had once skidded to an abrupt stop here as they had tried to out-run a police officer. The policeman caught up with the ragamuffins and apprehended them, taking delight in reading out every detail of graveyard vandalism over the entire week, although the boys’ singular crime had been ‘breaking and entering’.

We slipped out of the cemetery, over ‘the bridge of sighs’ into the cathedral. It’s an imposing Gothic church built in the Middle Ages. Saint Kentigern (more widely known as St Mungo) supposedly built the first Christian church in Scotland here. The tomb of the saint lies in the lower crypt.

A stained glass tells the story of St Mungo and the miracles associated with him (symbols that form the Glasgow coat of arms):

The bird that never flew
The tree that never grew
The bell that never rang
The fish that never swam

Another stained glass window pays homage to Glasgow’s tradesmen: bakers, barbers, bonnetmakers, bookmakers, coopers, cordiners, dyers, fleshers, gardeners, maltmen, masons, weavers and wood binders; crafts that are now largely confined to the annals of history.

Alan called us over to show us a neatly hand-scripted list of parish servicemen who had lost their lives during the war. He pointed to one of the names on the list: Driver: C Findley RASC, and said: “My brother-in-law”.

“But Tom’s uncle died in the ’80s,” I said in a puzzled voice.

“I know,” said Alan. “It’s a mistake. Charlie took great delight in showing people his name on the memorial, claiming he was one of the living dead. He thought it a great joke.” “But how did he end up on the list?”

“When he was evacuating to Dunkirk, on the run from the Germans, his truck took a wrong turn. He ended up on a beach some miles adrift from Dunkirk. Missing, it was presumed he was one of the Dunkirk dead.”

A fortuitous wrong turn indeed.

Glasgow survived the heavy bombardment of the Second World War and the decline of its manufacturing base, and is on the up again. It’s no coincidence that Glasgow was chosen to be ‘European City of Culture’ in 1990. Since then Glasgow has gone from strength to strength.

We visited the Clydeside, currently being regenerated with its smart new Riverside Museum, a theatre – the Armadillo, and the science museum tower. Over in the West End we discovered a vibrant hub of fine eateries, trendy boutiques and night clubs set among the cleaned-up sandstone Victorian buildings; handsome historic university buildings and museums set in leafy parks and hilly bluffs.

We ate in ‘The Black Sheep’ and ‘Two Fat Ladies’ and tasted some of the best food I have ever had. Yes, Scottish fare: tatties and neeps (potatoes and turnips), haggis, black pudding and sticky toffee pudding; food that was surprisingly light and full of flavour .

Glasgow: unpretentious, vivacious, humorous, plain-speaking, rough at the edges, but ultimately warm and generous, (A bit like my father-in-law, I discovered) – yet witty and intelligent. Go there, and you might have to rethink your view of the city. I had to.

Glasgow City Centre Whisky Tour

If You Go:

Glasgow International Airport is only 8 miles from the city centre and is well served with taxis and buses. In Glasgow itself, getting around the city is easy with a comprehensive network of buses, trains and the underground railway system, known locally as “The clockwork orange”. It’s worth taking a coach up to The Trossachs and Highlands, just a stone’s throw from Glasgow. The hills, lochs and the pure clear northern light are the perfect contrast to the bustling city.

About the author:
Helen Moat is a British teacher and travel writer. She has won several travel writing competitions, including runner-up with the British Guild of Travel Writers, and has been published in The Daily Telegraph. Her greatest passions in life are music, travel and writing (not surprisingly).
Find other travel pieces by her at: moathouse-moathouseblogspotcom.blogspot.com

All photos are by Helen Moat:
1. Glasgow University
2. Alan Moat (subject of story) outside the cathedral
3. Outside the Cathedral
4. The Cathedral Interior
5. Details from the Guild Window (The Bell, The Bird The Fish And The Tree)
6. Details from the Guild Window
7. Details from the Guild Window
8. Riverside Museum (of transport)

Trekking Through The Tower Of London

by Becky Garrison

According to my UK friends, only tourists visit the Tower of London (aka Her Majesty’s Royal Palace and Fortress). But just as they frequent Times Square whenever they come to New York City, I had a hankering to play tourist for a bit and visit this historic castle located on the River Thames in Central London.

This massive twenty-one-tower complex built by William the Conqueror shortly after he came into power in 1066 served a variety of functions, including a fortress against foreign attack, a repository for the crown jewels, and a refuge for the royal family in times of civil disorder. However, the Tower of London remains notorious as the site for some of England’s bloodiest bits, a living testimony to the hell that happened when certain royals ruled the roost.

In preparation for my mini-historical trek to the Tower, I uploaded the soundtrack from Spamalot onto my smartphone. Listening to how Sir Robin the Not-Quite-So-Brave-As-Sir-Lancelot personally wet himself at the Battle of Badon Hill put me in the right frame of mind to visit England’s most infamous house of horrors.

Instead of heading straight for the tower, I decided to stop at the London Bridge station and then walk across Tower Bridge. Despite this landmark’s medieval appearance, this famous drawbridge didn’t grace the London skyline until 1894. As I surveyed the growing mound of ant-like figures converging on the Tower of London, I began to wonder if perhaps I should heed my UK hosts’ advice and just skip this site. But given I already had my press ticket in hand, I figured I’d give it a shot.

Once I entered the complex, I found myself accosted by a gentleman dressed in regal robes. At first I thought he was another out of work actor looking to play dress-up but I soon learned he’s a bona fide Beefeater, the Yoemen of the Guard who formed the Royal Bodyguard since at least 1509. While he proved to be quite the expert guide, after getting elbowed one time too many by some twittery tourist, I set out on my own.

After I passed by Traitor’s Gate, the famous entry to the Tower where prisoners would enter from the River Thames to the Tower, I took a counterclockwise tour of the various towers. Passing by a sequence of cells and chapels, I almost felt as though I was traversing through a medieval monastery. That is until I stumbled upon a display of torture instruments clearly designed to stretch someone into submission.

I made sure to stop by and see the greatest working collection of Crown Jewels— scepters, orbs, swords, Oh My! Though to be honest, I found myself more impressed by the armor worn by a succession of kings, most of whom appeared to be quite short of stature.

In recent years, the Tower underwent a thorough “out, damned spot!” removal program. The last execution at the Tower transpired when an eight-man firing squad shot Corporal Josef Jakobs in 1941, the same year that Hitler’s Deputy Führer, Rudolf Hess, was held there briefly. Even the famous Bloody Tower now glistens in the golden sun. A pastoral patch on the Tower Green marks the spot where the more prominent prisoners, such as two of Henry VIII’s wives (Anne Boleyn and Catherine Howard), lost their pretty heads. All that’s left now are a few implements of torture ensconced in glass cases. Let’s hope they stay that way.

Private Guided Tour: Tower of London

If You Go:

The Tower of London Official Website:

About the author:
Becky Garrison is a freelance writer who has authored six books including Jesus Died for This?: A Satirist’s Search for the Risen Christ, with a seventh book in development. In addition to penning a book on pilgrimages for Zondervan (a subsidiary of Harper Collins), she has written articles about destination travel and travel products for several publications, including 52 Perfect Days, Yahoo, Sportsology.net and Killing the Buddha. Visit about.me/BeckyGarrison

All photos are by Becky Garrison:
1. Site of the scaffold were Anne Boleyn was executed.
2. The Sir Walter Raleigh Room.
3. The Portcullis.

Reading for Henry VIII

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.”

Oxford, the Cotswolds and Stratford-upon-Avon Day Trip from Oxford including Shakespeare’s Birthplace

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