Southern English History Lessons

Lying on the concrete seawall, eyes closed, listening to the gulls screech as the sun beats down on my face. I can taste sticky, sweet ice cream on my lips. I can smell the salt water and the breeze is just faintly tainted with scent of decaying shellfish.

Have we gone back south?!

But wait - I'm wearing a jacket because the sun is just lukewarm. That greasy rock in my belly is most certainly from the pre-ice cream fish and chips.

This isn't the Mediterranean! This is England!

We were in the seaside village of Whitstable, County Kent, seven miles from Canterbury. We'd rented bikes and cycled the 'Crab and Winkle Way,' formerly a rail line (one of the first in Britain) dedicated to distributing the shellfish caught in Whitstable to the rest of Merrie Olde England.

The smooth, rounded stones of the beach lead up to the seawall, and the seaside pubs (where we'd had a few pints). Here and there, walking up the coast, there are piles of big oyster shells - the bounty harvested here since Roman times.

We returned the bikes the next morning and, sore-bottomed from the thin bike seats, set off to explore Canterbury's pious side.

The ornate cathedral has been a famous pilgrimage site since the gruesome murder of Archbishop Thomas Becket in the late thirteenth century - this is the destination in Chaucer's 'Canterbury Tales.' The original crypts below the cathedral are largely accessible, and in one of the chapels, the wall murals dating from the early years of the church are still visible, the familiar figures depicted with big, almond-shaped eyes, angular features and faded colours that were once bright and expressive.

On a whim, we took a peek at a Pilgrim's Hospice set up by Becket's nephew to provide lodging for the poorer pilgrims. Still used as a senior's residence today, original murals are visible in the chapel and the common space.

Finally, we went to the ruins of St Augustine's Abbey, the place where the celebrated saint first set up a church to begin his mission of re-Christianizing Anglo-Saxon Britain. The original abbey has been excavated and is partially visible, along with the outline of the Norman abbey and cathedral that replaced it. As we explored its grassy paths and red brick ruins, the site gave us an intimate picture of Britain's relationship with the church - with far fewer tourists than the overrun cathedral next door.

We packed up our tent for the final time and decided it was time for a special treat: a bed and breakfast! Fluffy towels, a television, a chocolate on the pillow, a superbly artery-choking breakfast. Amazing!

We had come to Portsmouth to spend a whole day at the historical harbour, where three famous ships now rest - Henry VIII's flagship the Mary Rose, Nelson's yellow and black checkered Victory and the greatest of the Victorian battleships, the cast iron-hulled Warrior. The ticket for these also includes a 45 minute harbour tour, which was a welcome interlude between ship-wanderings.

The Mary Rose is not available for viewing. Having sunk off the Portsmouth coast in the Tudor era, it was recovered from the sea floor a few decades ago and is now being painstakingly conserved. The museum is nice and has some eroded artifacts on display.

The Victory

The Victory and the Warrior, however, are both restored and functional - you can climb all over both as you learn about the ships, the technology and the lives of the crew.

Our final stop before the long journey north to Scotland was to Salisbury - or rather, a small village outside of Salisbury named Cholderton. Our hostel, which was a big YHA hostel built on a farm, was advertised as four miles from Stonehenge. Turns out this is only the case by highway, but we adventurous souls struck out on a Saturday morning in search of the most famous of British monuments anyway.

Although longer than anticipated at a 12 to 13 mile round trip, the walk took us along the Avenue, the ancient road approaching Stonehenge from the east. We passed a number of burial mounds along the ridge facing the site, arranged so as to line the horizon and then plodded through the cow fields towards our goal.

Although the famous sarsen stones and bluestones are just as enormous as I had imagined, I was shocked by how tightly packed together they are, rendering the site itself quite small and compact. From most angles on the ground, it's actually somewhat difficult to see the familiar horseshoe patterns in the pack of stones.

The magnitude of the stones themselves remains impressive: they are huge and took centuries of serious dedication to carve and move and arrange. That they were obviously once incredibly important to a thriving culture cannot be denied, but it is unlikely we will ever fully understand why.

Although smaller than I had thought, the ancient site is nonetheless intriguing. The stones will remain charmingly enigmatic, ripe for the romance of the imagination even as they stand steadfastly evasive. It was worth a visit to see the stuff of legend.

That said... the audio guide is great, but save yourself the seven quid. Read the Wikipedia article and then observe from the highway!

S.