The excitement and challenge of travel is that it pushes us out of our well-worn paths and ingrained assumptions. Even in England where we Americans share a common language with our host country, there are differences to take into account.

“Be sure to look RIGHT when you step off a curb,” said Kevin Jones worriedly, “so a bus doesn’t toss you into the air.” So far, nothing to report on that score, thankfully. Besides driving conventions, there are the little expressions that differ.

Where we would say “schedule” with a “sk” sound, the Brits make it genteel with a “sh” sound. Or sometimes they use the term “scheme” instead of “schedule” or “plan,” whereas Americans often invest the word “scheme” with a sinister connotation, as if someone’s about to get the ax.

Then there are “rashers,” “mash,” and “crisps” to interpret. It’s fun! Crossing cultures doesn’t need to make us cross. After all, it’s quite charming to see the phrase “queues ahead” on traffic signs. It sounds more like a tea party than a traffic jam.

This brings me to the riveting sign (below) about “anti-social drivers.” In America, we have “gussied this up” into a clinical diagnosis. It’s “road rage” instead of rudeness, as if reckless drivers need some psychotherapy (maybe they do!) instead of having their car impounded and their license revoked (possibly!). I suspect this sign points to a significant cultural difference.

Many of us in the U.S. have become fundamentalists about “individual liberties.” Not that this isn’t a bedrock value of a democratic republic, but it’s not the ONLY value before which all other values must genuflect.

“Republic” (from Latin res publici) means “public things,” i.e., what we own together, care for, and share in common. The notion of “individual liberty” is held in check by what we owe our neighbors. The same idea is embodied in the states of our country (Pennsylvania specifically comes to mind) which calls itself a “Commonwealth.” “We respect your individual rights, folks, but we’re in this together,” it seems to say. 

This traffic warning distills this truth so well. It says, “Driving aggressively is not your choice to make. It’s against social norms and you have no right to it, so we will take your keys away until you grow up.” This is the right focus, it seems to me. 

1066 and all that

We are taking the A36 and the M3 to Winchester Cathedral today, riding on our comfortable coach, an enormous vehicle! John, our bus driver, coaxes it along slender English roads with cool skill and abundant courtesy to other drivers.

Today is overcast and cool (low 60’s Farenheit), just perfect touring weather, if you ask me. I have lugged my bulky fleece along with me from streamy Ohio, and I yearn to justify that decision by actually needing it. Today I do! Yay!

It’s a short, 40-minute drive to the Winchester city centre (love the reversed “r” and “e” in that word, don’t you?). Tom hustles us through a bustling main street and mall area to the Cathedral. Standing at the West End, it looks little like a dowager empress, “past her prime.” The stone is discolored and the grass has grown long.

But Tom explained that the decision to let the grass grow is ecological. It’s better for the flora and fauna. As for the drab exterior, well, “just go inside,” he said, “you’ll see!” He was so right.

The view down the nave to the choir and high altar is breathtaking. The perpendicular pillars soar into the space above, drawing your gaze and your heart upward. We were divided into groups for those who wanted to take a tour.

This is how I learned that the present building is the second cathedral, built near the first one after the victory of William the Conqueror (1066 and all that!) Eager to awe the Saxons whom he had subdued, he ordered the biggest cathedral in Europe to be built.

In just 13 years, 16,000 tons of stone were hewed out of quarries on the Isle of Wight, lugged up to this site and mortared (sometimes sloppily) into a chunky Norman style church. It seemed as much for the glory of William as for his God! It provided a perfect “theatre” for him to have long processions up the Nave, advertising his prestige. William was crowned here—and did it again in London—hedging his bets, since it was not clear whether Winchester or London would become the capital.

You can see signs of William’s massive Romanesque building around and underneath the luminous English Gothic church (the “new style”) which was erected in the 1300s under the leadership of Bishop Wickham. This painstaking conversion took 80 years due to the loss of life and laborers during the Black Death. This is still a short time, as Cathedrals go. 

Among the bewitching and inspiring highlights of this Cathedral, I mention these two: Jane Austin (perhaps the most adored writer in the English language besides Shakespeare) is buried in the north aisle. The inscription on her grave is an exquisite celebration of the goodness, talent, faith, and loyalty of her brief life. She gained her much-deserved fame posthumously. Because she was a woman, only after her death could she be revealed as the source of her winsome novels.

The other highlight for me was Saint Swithun’s grave. (Yes, Virginia, there really is a St. Swithun.) He was a humble and beloved bishop who is still celebrated by the people of Winchester. He wanted to be buried outside, which he was, but later, this was deemed unsuitable. His weary bones were dug up and transported inside. As the tradition goes, it rained for 40 days through his disinterment to express St. Swithun’s (or maybe God’s?) displeasure.

Sitting in the magnificent choir area, many of us enjoyed the warm up of a choir from Louisville, Kentucky, who were doing a concert and Evensong that afternoon. They were a tour choir, constructed from several singing groups in the Louisville area. They ran through snatches of Tallis’ If Ye Love Me, as well as anthems by R. V. Williams and H. Howells until their director was satisfied. “Good,” he said, “we’ll do the rest at the concert and Evensong,” and everyone broke for lunch.

We did, too. Reluctant to leave the stunning Cathedral area, we went to their Cafe which served excellent food at a moderate price. Afterwards, we toured the beautiful perennial beds surrounding the Cathedral with huge purple glob thistles and Cosmos, which bowed in the cool breeze and spread their yellow, red, and pink cheer upon us. All too soon, it was time to return to the bus.

Evensong: I get it now

It was a deep bath in the Holy Spirit: ethereal chanting; a psalm that told its story musically with sensitivity and soul; an incredible setting of the Gospel canticles that we’d heard once before on this trip (and which I will never tire of hearing); and the Benjamin Britten Festival Te Deum, which seemed to inhabit an exalted musical space. Honestly, I have run out of superlatives for this choir!

Here is the review of a stranger, overheard by Jen Sammons, who deserves credit for writing it down. Jen said, “I asked a chorister how rehearsal was and a cathedral visitor walking by stopped to reply:” 

“Transcendent! It was transcendent. I was in there when it started, and when the organ plays the first chord, it’s just…wow! And then their voices! Incredible. I get it now. I get it!”

“I’m not sure,” Jen continued, “if what he ‘gets’ now is God, or church, or choirs, but whatever it is, he left the cathedral today changed because of hearing this choir.”

It was a brilliant day! And now good night, dear friends, far and near.

Greg+