Category: Beauty

The White Rose of York

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The Shambles

York is about a four hour drive north of London by car or two hours by train. It has a history as long and important as London, and was home to three kings. The House of York was a branch of the Plantagenets, represented by a white rose. The dynasty was troubled by war and ended with the death of Richard III and the rise of the Tudors. It was once a bustling city of great power lined with shops and industry. The Romans had a settlement there, and much of the wall that they built still stands. It is a unique place well worth the effort in getting there.

We set out for York on a Tuesday morning and arrived by early afternoon. Brother Pat was so adept at driving on the highways by then that we were rather carefree on the journey, spending most of our time enjoying the the landscape which became more and more magnificent the farther north we traveled.

We had rented a flat for the night in York that housed all six of us. It boasted a full kitchen, three large bedrooms, two baths and a living area all for less than two hundred pounds a day. It was clean and modern and within walking distance of all of the major attractions. We all agreed that we had done well in finding it even though we were generally unfamiliar with the area, relying only on photos to give us an idea of what we were getting.

Since we had tickets to visit York Minster, a magnificent medieval church, the following day we headed to the old town area known as the Shambles. Some say that it’s ancient cobbled streets lined with quaint shops were the inspiration for Diagon Alley in the Harry Potter stories. The hooks where butchers once hung their meat still hand over the walkways, and the tiny stores are filled with all sorts of interesting delights.

At the edge of the old town area was an open market place where vendors sold baked goods, antiques, jewelry, crafts, and even fresh meat. I came upon some Willow Ware dishes that included teacups, plates, a pitcher and a bowl. They were exactly like the traditional ones that I collect save for a different hue of blue. I was quite taken by them and knew that I had to purchase them when the seller offered the entire set to me for only twenty two pounds. It was a real bargain.

As she bubble wrapped each dish for me we spoke of York and the things to do there. Then she mentioned that if we had time we should definitely take a short side trip to a place called Robin Hood’s Bay that was just east of the area on the North Sea. She explained that she always took visitors there because it is a unique and beautiful place. By the time I was ready to leave with my purchases she had convinced me that we needed to find a way to include the town as one of our destinations.

We spent the rest of the afternoon visiting Christmas stores, sampling fudge, sipping on tea, eating ice cream, and laughing in magic shops. I purchased several art prints of both York Minster and the Shambles to go with the pictures from other cities that I have gathered over the years. I felt as though I really was in another world in another place and time until we eventually found our way back onto modern streets.

We decided to cook some spaghetti for dinner, so we purchased some fresh ground beef, known as crumbly beef in England, from the open market meat vendor, some fresh loaves of bread from a little bakery, and the rest of our food from a tiny grocery store. We walked back to our flat enjoying the beautiful weather and the flowers that seemed to be blooming everywhere.

It was a very pleasant stroll even with our heavy parcels. By then we had grown accustomed to walking  several miles each day, and the views in York were particularly enchanting. I saw trees, bushes and flowers unlike any that I have ever known and we all stopped often to snap images of the loveliness that was so bountiful.

We spent the evening enjoying a great meal made by my brother Pat. His skills in firefighting and driving are only outdone by his abilities as a chef. We ate his home cooked meal with gusto and then we played games and laughed and joked until late into the night. It is amazing how relaxed we had become and how much we had adapted to a slower way of life. It felt as though we had landed in a happy little bubble where there were no problems, and no bad feelings. Everything and everyone seemed as quaint as the programs on PBS that feature little villages where folks are friendly and life unfolds at a slower pace.

Of course we understood that real England is no doubt different from vacation England. We had set aside all of our worries and cares for a time, but indeed they must exist for those who live there. Still, it was nice to be free from any sort of concerns and to just live fully and happily in the  moment. Best of all was the opportunity to spend so much time with my brothers and sister-in-laws. There is something quite magical about sharing a trip with people that I love. The memories will now and forever bring a smile to my face.

We retired that evening feeling quite content but also excited about visiting the magnificent church that so dominates York. We were also more than curious about what we might find if we actually decided to travel to Robin Hood’s Bay.

A Town by a River

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Kings College Chapel

Some time back when I was teaching in South Houston I mentioned to my students that Duke University would be an excellent choice for college. A young man laughed hilariously and corrected me as though he thought I was showing great ignorance, “Mrs. Burnett, Duke isn’t a college! It’s a basketball team!”

Of course I was stunned by his lack of knowledge, but I suppose that each of us sometimes demonstrates ignorance about certain things. I got my own comeuppance when visiting the town of Cambridge, England. For most of my life I had thought that the place known as Cambridge was just the land where a prestigious university stood, rather than a center of work and home for regular people. I had little idea that there was a Cam river across which a bridge was built that may have given the place its name. It wasn’t until I was watching Granchester on PBS that I realized how little I actually knew about the city of Cambridge, England.

On the second day of our great road trip adventures we headed to Cambridge. It’s quaintness and the friendliness of its citizens struck us almost immediately as we attempted to operate a parking meter. A kindly meter man approached and showed us how we might get a refund on the money we had already put into the machine. Instead he suggested that we go closer to the center of town where we would have unlimited time to park without having to worry about feeding the meter again and again. It ends up that he was originally from Poland but had chosen Cambridge as his home many years earlier when he had become a huge fan of the place and a source of great information.

With his advice in mind we set out in search of the city center noting the rolling green parks, the quaint homes, and the general neatness of Cambridge. As we walked down the main street we had a real sense of the people who lived and worked there, as well as the pride they had for their town. Soon we were in the heart of the university itself with its many colleges and buildings dating from medieval times. The architecture was striking, but we wanted more than anything to see Kings College with its chapel built during the reign of Henry VII with its distinctive architecture known as Tudor Vertical.

We had first heard about this remarkable creation from the Rice University professor who lead our class on the Tudor kings and queens this past spring. He had shown us images of the kinds of cathedrals that were typical during the time and then flashed a photo of the Kings College Chapel with a comment that the people who first saw it must have been awed by the light afforded by the long tall windows. Somehow we knew from that moment that we would have to see the place with our own eyes.

For the time being, however, we were hungry because it was long past lunchtime so we found a place that offered a wonderful luncheon menu at a remarkable price. I suppose that we are more accustomed to living in the fourth largest city in the United States than in a small town like Cambridge. We assumed that everything would be open at least until dark but soon learned how wrong we were when we attempted to gain entry to the Kings College Chapel. Our way was blocked by a woman who insisted that it was closed to tourists for the remainder of the afternoon to prepare for Evensong at 5:00. Not to be deterred from seeing this wonder, I inquired as to whether or not we might be allowed to participate in Evensong and to my delight learned that it was open to the public.

We spent the next couple of hours wandering through quaint shops, perusing the open market stalls, sampling fudge, and walking along the Cam River. Guides were using long poles to move boats along the tree lined water as people lounged on pillows while enjoying the view. We saw the Mathematics Bridge, a marvel of both art and science as well as many other chapels and interesting buildings. By five we were first in line for Evensong and waited expectantly for our chance to enter Kings College Chapel.

In the interim we met a wonderful man who explained that many of the places were closed to the public that week because students were busy taking exams. He also mentioned that if we wanted to just view the chapel without participating in the full Evensong gathering we would be able to sit in the back and leave quietly whenever we were done.

Kings College

Soon we were witnessing the magnificent chapel that was even more awe inspiring in person than in pictures. We had been cautioned not to take photographs and to respect the prayerful intent of the occasion but we nonetheless snuck a shot or two without bringing notice to our infractions.

The ceremony itself was outstanding. The choir was composed of students and the inclusion of female voices added a resonance to the singing that head been missing in the music of Westminster Abbey and St. Paul’s Cathedral. It was a quite lovely experience that provided a moment to meditate on both the constancy of tradition and the inevitable changes of life.

I thought of the incredible people who had lived and worked at Cambridge University, giants like Isaac Newton and Stephen Hawking. I wondered at the history of the college and the town itself. I felt a sense of ease and peace, closing my eyes to feel the flow of the river that had seen so much genius and so many instances of humanity. Once again the voices of history entered my head and blended with the sonorousness of the choir. It was glorious.

It was dark by the time we had returned to London. We were much calmer about my brother Pat’s driving and we felt quite content. We had walked in the shadow of giants and now also knew that Cambridge was more than we had ever thought it to be. In life there are both constants and variables and we had seen them both.

Punting on the Cam

All the World’s a Stage

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The Globe

I was one of those young college students who struggled to decide what path to follow in preparing for a career. I began with an unspecified arts and sciences major and changed directions multiple times. I even dropped out for a time because I was so confused about what I really wanted to do with my life. In the end I graduated with many more hours than usual, ultimately majoring in English and Education with a heavy dose of mathematics courses for good measure. By that time I saw myself as a purveyor of literature, and I dreamed of inspiring students to love Shakespeare as much as I do. I carried visions of my favorite high school teacher, Father Shane, in my head and hoped that I might inspire a new generation of young people to appreciate the beauty of the the written word as much as he had impacted me.

To my surprise my first job was as a mathematics teacher, something I viewed as a temporary status wrought by a dwindling market for newly graduated educators. I assumed that within in year or so the economy would right itself and I would soon enough be dramatically quoting lines from Othello and demonstrating the art of writing. Somehow I instead became branded as someone capable of instructing students in the algorithms and formulas of algebra, geometry, probability and statistics. It became an unbreakable trend, and soon enough my preferred mode of work. Still, there hovered in the back of my mind an undying love for literature, grammar, linguistics and composition. The artistic side of my nature needed to be unleashed, but would have to learn how to express itself in unique lessons for teaching proportion and the wonders of circles.

Once I retired from my career I returned to my roots, writing almost daily, reading and rereading some of my favorite authors, and immersing myself in the beauty of language. I even enjoyed tutoring a student or two in the ways of interpreting literature and then writing about metaphors and other tools of language. If found great joy and relaxation in having the time to devote myself to explorations of the ideas that I have always so loved.

Still there remained a longing to visit the land where so many of my favorite authors had once lived and to experience the history and culture that had so molded them. The number one entry on my bucket list was to travel to London and its countryside, and I was determined to one day make it happen. It was with great expectations that I recently crossed “the pond” and had the opportunity to walk in the shadow of some of the greatest authors of all time, not the least of which is my favorite, William Shakespeare.

The original Globe Theater where Shakespeare’s plays were performed was destroyed long ago, but a replica now stands along the Thames River offering seasonal productions for those desiring to get a feel for how the Elizabethan world might have been. It is an outdoor venue with a large open area for the “groundlings” who must stand during the presentation with three levels of seating on the same type of narrow wooden seating that the more prosperous patrons of old might have enjoyed. The only nod to comfort in the arena are the small cushions that may be procured for an extra fee to soften the harshness of sitting on a hard surface for three hours.

My traveling companions and I went to see The Merry Wives of Windsor, a comedy that might not have been my first choice but was nonetheless the offering for the season. It was a greatly modernized version of the rollicking farce featuring the crowd pleasing character, Falstaff. The members of the company played well to the audience just as the actors of old most surely had done. Their light hearted banter kept all of us laughing and enjoying the ridiculousness of the story.

When intermission came I learned that the members of my family had little idea what was happening. They had not taken entire courses on the works of Shakespeare as I had. Only my sister-in-law Becky was somewhat attuned because I had gifted her with a translated version of the play since she was worried that her English might not be up to speed enough to understand the nuances of a Shakespearean production. I hastily describe the premise of the play and each character’s role in the tale. After that there were more laughs and enjoyment coming from my family, and I felt a small sense of satisfaction in being a purveyor of understanding for them.

I was literally floating on air as we emerged from the Globe Theater at the end of a riotously fun evening. The night sky was clear and illuminated by a million points of light from the city of London. I walked across the Millennium Bridge in high spirits as I marveled at my good fortune, and considered that the course of my life had gone full circle, returning me to the passion of my youth. I thought of Father Shane and gave him a silent nod of gratitude for instilling me with a love of all things literary. I felt quite complete as I considered how well the course of my life had gone. There was something very Shakespearean about the way that I was feeling and the contentment that filled my heart.

As if to remind me that life is filled with comedies and well as tragedies, in the midst of my elation my brother Michael ran into a low barricade, did a complete somersault, and banged his head on the pavement in view of St. Paul’s Cathedral. His glasses were broken, his body was bruised, and we worried that his injuries were severe. With the usual aplomb he brushed away our fears, but the bubble of perfection in which I had been floating returned to reality. It felt as though Shakespeare himself was reminding me of the vagaries of life that are the stuff of both tragedy and comedy.

I shall never forget my evening at the Globe Theater. I have seen better plays and more superior acting at the Alley Theater in Houston, but those entertainments did not feel as sacred as my pilgrimage to the place where the undyingly prescient words of the Bard still deliver their universal messages. More than ever I knew that “all the world’s a stage,” and I have been a player in its never ending plot.

The Glory

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St. Paul's Dome

St. Paul’s Cathedral has a storied history. It has existed in one form or another in the heart of London for over fourteen hundred years. Built originally by monks in medieval times it endured neglect and fires. Over time there were many different versions of the structure, but it is the majestic architectural creation of Sir Christopher Wren that stuns visitors today. Wren’s masterpiece eschewed the dark stone, heavy pillars and stained glass of other churches and instead featured a massive dome hovering overhead like a window into heaven. There is a lightness and airiness about the interior not seen in other churches of the era. It has a modern, yet classic feel that is incomparable.

We traveled to St. Paul’s Cathedral on a Friday morning. We had enjoyed a foretaste of what we would see during Evensong the afternoon before when we were treated to the voices of a magnificent choir and a tradition that reaches back in time. The Church of England came about in the reign of Henry VIII when he broke with Rome and declared that as king he had the right to serve as the head of the Church in England. His was not a reformation, so the services and prayers continued in the same vein as those of the Catholic Church. Which is perhaps why, as a Catholic, I felt so at home in the cathedral.

We were fortunate to find a wonderful guide to take us through the church and to explain each aspect of the history and the architecture. St. Paul’s Cathedral has been the site of many famous events including the Diamond Jubilee of Queen Victoria and the state funeral of Winston Churchill. To this day it is a gathering place where people sun on the steps and drop in for prayer in the chapel or noon day services. It is both a working church and a tourist attraction whose income from visitors provides financing for upkeep and renovations. 

The high altar was eventually changed during the reign of Queen Victoria when it was encrusted with the kind of heavy gilding so popular during that era. It had a cleaner look in its original iteration as designed by Wren, and wondered what he might think were he to see it now so dark compared to the rest of the structure. In some ways there is a kind of disconnect between the heaviness of the altar and the etherial feel of the  rest of the cathedral.

The choir stalls were also changed by the addition of dark and heavy woodwork during Queen Victoria’s reign. Nonetheless the cathedral is still dominated by the dome that makes it so unique. That pediment stands out in the London landscape from every angle whether day or night. It is a glorious beacon representing so much that is great about the city and its people.

During World War II London endured fifty seven straight nights of bombing from the German Luftwaffe. Parishioners served as security for the building hoping to protect the structure in the event that it became a target. One evening the people noticed a fire breaking out as the bombs burst overhead. They called for help in putting out the flames, and firefighters worked tirelessly to save the beloved church from destruction. When morning came virtually every building that had surrounded the cathedral was demolished, but St. Paul’s stood rock solid thanks to the heroics of the people who had been watching over it.

The basement of St. Paul’s serves as a crypt and memorial for many of London’s most imminent citizens including Admiral Nelson and the Duke of Wellington who is beloved for saving the country from Napoleon’s domination. Much like Westminster Abbey it is a repository of much of the nation’s history.

There is a stairway that leads to the top of the grand dome. My brothers, Mike and Pat, navigated the winding and narrow passages along with my sister-in-law, Allison, to enjoy the sweeping vistas of the city and a closer look at the construction and magnificence of the the building. Sadly my knees would not hold up under such stress so I joined my husband Mike and sister-in-law, Becky for tea while the younger among us enjoyed the adventure of the climb. In another decade I surely would have been right there with them, but I have learned to respect the signs that such adventures are past.

St. Paul’s Cathedral is a marvel of architecture and a treasure for all of the people of London. I felt a very spiritual connection to the church that was different from the awe of Westminster Abbey. It is a place where worship rather than history plays a more dominant role. It is a showpiece, but also a refuge from the hustle and bustle of the city. It has a calming presence that made me want to just sit and linger and meditate. I truly felt God’s presence there.

I would see the dome of St. Paul’s on the horizon again and again during my time in London. Sometimes it was like a beacon of hope, others it was a compass point helping me to find my way. Always just seeing it brought a sense of calm to me. It is one of those places that I will certainly conjure up when I feel the need to meditate on the goodness of humans, for that is what I felt there from the moment that I first entered.

Even now as think about St. Paul’s Cathedral my heart slows, my mind focuses and I feel a sublime sense of well being. I see the minister who looked at my face and smiled as though he knew the content of my heart as he invited me to attend Evensong. There is an otherworldly essence there that will sustain me whenever I close my eyes, quiet my heart, and remember the glory.

Skye Garden

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London is not just about the past. It’s skyline is filled with ultra-modern buildings with unique architecture. Among them is Skye Garden, a thirty seven floor wonder with a three hundred sixty degree glass viewing area. This unusual structure literally appears to be falling forward onto the pavement below, but it is a sturdy structure that provides some of the best available panoramas of the city.

After a long day of taking in the sights of Buckingham Palace and the Victoria and Albert Museum we rode across town to learn what we might see. Because the number of visitors allowed into the viewing area of Skye Garden at any one time is limited, we reserved six spots for the late afternoon. The venue is free, so all we needed were the tickets that we had secured a month or so before our trip. That way we were assured a space without having to possibly wait in a long line.

The ride up to the rooftop area was smooth and we were immediately delighted when the doors opened to an airy garden like atmosphere. Because the days are long in London during the spring and summer months we were in no hurry to make the circuit on the viewing platform, so we paused at the bar ordering our individual favorites among the many wines, ciders, and beers being offered. It was pleasant just sitting and looking over the landscape as far as the eye might see as well as watching the people who were comprised mostly of young Londoners enjoying happy hour after working all day.

We spoke of the things that we had experienced on that day and celebrated our good fortune with weather, knowing that the clear sky would afford us a special look at the city. After a time we scurried out to promenade around the perimeter of the upper floor. What we saw was quite breathtaking and well worth our effort in getting there. There was the River Thames, the London Eye, and the Tower. We were able to point out the dome of St. Paul’s Cathedral and some of the newer structures like the Shard which literally appears to be a pieces of broken glass belonging to some giant. Of course there was also the building formally known as 30 St. Mary’s Axe but better recognized by its nickname, the Gherkin, a silly structure that is often ridiculed with rather insulting monikers.

It was incredible fun to see the city as a whole and to realize the sheer density of the over eight million person population as evidenced in the many high rise apartments. It was also astounding to view the old historical structures seemingly side by side the more modern buildings. It seems that Londoners honor both history and progress.

There is a lovely restaurant at the top of Skye Garden but it was a bit much for us on that evening when we were growing a bit weary from our many adventures, so after taking multiple photos and marveling at the beauty both inside and outside the glass platform we decided to head back to our hotel in Bloomsbury.

By this time we had already grown fond of the pub inside the Holiday Inn which appeared to cater to more locals than tourists. We had already made friends with several of the people who came each night to visit with one another, watch some football and drink a bit of stout beer. We ordered some great pub food and set up a game of Jokers and Marbles, a strategy game that is a cross between Sorry and Parcheesi.

We played in teams of women versus men. In a three out of five tourney that lasted for more than a week the women were the victors. More importantly was the laughter and fun that we enjoyed of an evening as we gathered around a huge wooden table sipping on brews and snacking on pub food like bangers and mash, fish and chips, meat pies, onion rings, or soup with bread. It was a great way to get to know the people from the neighborhood and to sample some of the traditional food and drink. Over the course of our trip we grew to look forward to the leisurely evenings in Callahan’s Pub.

We had already experienced so much of both the old and the knew in London. We had been dazzled by the rich history of this city and delighted by the friendliness of the people that we had encountered. We felt right at home in the hotel and on the Tube. In fact, I was greatly impressed by the polite behaviors that I continually encountered. Each time I entered a tightly packed train car there was invariably some young man wanting to surrender his seat to me. It was nice to see such mannerly behavior to be called “Mum or Mother” out of respect. I was very quickly learning to love this city and its people.