We were booking a trip to France, and I persuaded the family that it was madness to drive four hours to Dover and get straight on the ferry. "We should definitely stay overnight somewhere," I said. "Oh look, Canterbury is very handy - just twenty minutes from Dover." Of course, my suggestion was not influenced in the slightest by the fact that Canterbury contains England's most famous cathedral.
On the way down, we stretched our legs on Dunstable Downs, an area of chalk grassland owned by the National Trust. I was pleased to spot a scarlet pimpernel for my 100 Plants Challenge. We also enjoyed watching gliders ascending and descending.
We turned onto the M25 and made our way through busy traffic to the Dartford Crossing. This is one of those mythical points on the UK road network, like Scotch Corner and Watford Gap: the name familiar from traffic reports on the radio; the reality - for someone who grew up west of London - a hazy blur of imagination. It turns out that the Queen Elizabeth II bridge, which carries southbound traffic over the Thames Estuary (two tunnels attempt to handle the northbound hordes), is seriously spectacular, arching high over the water.
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| Caledonianl, CC BY-SA 4.0, via Wikimedia Commons |
Canterbury Cathedral felt equally mythical, and, I'm ashamed to admit, I had no idea what the rest of Canterbury was like. For all I knew, the cathedral was surrounded by shopping malls and industrial estates. This was soon disproved as we walked past tall flint walls, half-timbered houses, and stone towers on our way to the cathedral entrance.
The cathedral is unapologetically pay-to-enter; services are free, but take place outside of tourist visiting hours. Our tickets were checked underneath the gaudily decorated Christchurch Gate (Opus Constructum Est Anno Domini Millesimo Quingentesimo Septimo - I make that 1507, is that right?) and we entered the cathedral close.
Our initial impression as we approached the cathedral was that it was big, but not that big. Maybe similar to Lichfield, we thought. Later, after wandering in increasing awe around the interior, we realised that pretty much all of the east end was invisible from that first vantage point. And Canterbury Cathedral has a lot of east end. Also cloisters. And a chapter house. And a crypt. And monastic ruins round the back.
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| a lot of east end |
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| cloister |
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| chapter house |
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| monastic ruins |
The nave, on the day we were there, was largely empty of furniture, leaving the tall fluted pillars, the font, and the pulpit in a bare space. The choir and east end, by contrast, were packed with tombs, chairs, altars and stained glass. The archbishop's seat was an ornate stone confection surrounding a relatively ordinary - although comfortable-looking - chair upholstered in red velvet.
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| empty nave |
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| font |
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| high altar |
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| archbishop's cathedra... |
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| ...which is hiding inside this |
Thomas Becket is the name perpetually associated with Canterbury Cathedral. The archbishop, murdered in 1170 and canonised as a saint shortly thereafter, still has a shrine in the crossing of the cathedral, with his name written in appropriately spiky letters. The place where Becket's shrine used to be is marked by a solitary burning candle on the floor.
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| Andy Li, CC0, via Wikimedia Commons |
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| Becket's candle |
When I asked about a stamp for my cathedral passport, the lady pointed me towards the pilgrimage office: "They have a much nicer stamp over there." Heading back towards the entrance gate, I spotted a door with walking sticks leaning on the wall next to it, and a pile of dusty rucksacks just inside it. Pilgrims are still very welcome at Canterbury Cathedral. The stamp had a scallop shell on it, and I wished I had approached the cathedral on one of the old walking routes - although driving round the M25 must surely be a modern-day form of penance.
I rejoined the rest of the family to spot some remaining highlights: the ornate curved roof of the chapter house; a collection of Easter candles; an altar decorated with rib cages; an amazingly fat plane tree.
Later that evening, as we sat on a rooftop terrace, sipping mocktails in the warm air as the sky darkened and the cathedral lights came on, I wondered why we had bothered to book a holiday abroad. I could, I felt, quite happily spend the next five days in Canterbury.
But soon we were off to Lille. And that was good, too. You will hear more shortly...
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