Biking Birder I January 22nd Kent College Visit and Canterbury Cathedral

 

January 22^nd                                      Goodbye Mr Chips                                                             Richard Addinsell

               I awoke incredibly early and wrote notes for an hour or two before a large breakfast and a lot of chat. Too much of both in fact as I was late for my next school appointment at Kent College, a large independent school for the well to do. Now this was going to be an interesting day as I had never visited such an educational emporium before, Private not State. Indeed all of my teaching career had been in more working-class areas and inner city schools. How different it all was soon becoming apparent as I was taken on a tour of the school with the Reverend Paul. Mind you this was after yet another assembly with a shorter version of my now usual performance.

              The chapel or hall in which the assembly took place was a beautiful oak panelled auditorium; amphitheatre like with rows of descending pews all looking down onto an old traditional stage. On the stage were seated the Head of the school, bedecked in a large flowing black gown, the Reverend wearing the same and me holding onto my frog and albatross!

              From an overlooking extensive balcony, the school choir, fresh from their success on BBC radio, sang a sweet anthem just after the children, years seven to nine, marched in row after row. They all sat there motionless and silent; no fidgeting or gossiping with this lot. In fact it was a hard job to get anything from them when my turn came and in the ten minutes allotted to me, I had to thank the eventual participation of a boy named Diego. Thank goodness for him as he was the only one who put his hand up and asked a question. The children otherwise were strangely docile but not negatively so, just conditioned to be so in chapel.

              The tour of the school proceeded after a chat with a Mr Chips-like character named Gerald in the staff room. Gerald had been at the school for fifty years. He was very institutionalised and terrified of school holidays. He had heard about why I was visiting and told me in no uncertain manner and at some length, that Climate Change was a con, hypocritical and that nobody really cared anyway. Oh well, I beg to differ and I can only hope that people do care. To me Climate Change is the greatest challenge to human civilisation.

              I was guided after this less than pleasant encounter in the staff room by the vicar for the school. Around the school we went, into learning block after learning block, the resources were amazing with very neat, functional displays usually devoid of any children's work. In the music learning block I met the music technician, who talked of the school's rock bands and together we shared 'Zappa' jokes.

              Into the Reverend's hybrid car, a snip at £14,000 and the first time I had been in one. At least my carbon ride was in an eco-friendlier vehicle but I presume these hybrids will be the shape of the future. A short ride we went too, to the school farm just down the road. Pigs and piglets, ponies and an ass-licking cow. My backside receiving a friendly lick through the bars of the gate! The girl who worked here was also a harpist and she proudly showed me around. Next it was off to their junior school built with the money given by a Victorian artist, John Sidney Cooper. It was an impressive set of older buildings set amongst immaculately kept garden, which Paul said had over seventy species of tree.    

                       It was then back to the main school building for a longer assembly with the older students. They came in as the younger ones had done so, silently and row by row, filling up from the front to the back. At least these young people were a little more responsive than the younger children as one volunteered to be the frog and another the albatross!

              I would have liked to stay for the afternoon recital but I wanted to visit Canterbury Cathedral with the time left in the day. So I gave my thanks and left behind the opulence for the few.

              I cycled past the fish and chip shop that gave me my first and last taste of a hot chilli around twenty years ago. 

              Back in 1990, I hitch-hiked my way around Kent during an extremely hot week in August and getting to Canterbury after walking from Wye, I treated myself to a kebab with salad and an unnamed sauce; all presented delectably inside a pitta bread. Soon I cried for help and a drink. I have never liked spicy food; rather a plain eater really, just give me a bag of apple doughnuts and I am happy. Well, that or my favourite meal to eat, egg and chips with ketchup, bread and butter, followed by apple crumble and custard. I am a man of simple tastes, and of constant sorrow. Nowadays my diet is bereft of such delights; being wholefoods, nuts and pulses, fruit, vegetables, spices and herbs with small protein foods such as fish, salmon or mackerel and definitely no more of the packet after packet of my biscuits diet of old.

              That week was memorable for sleeping rough whilst exploring Kent's finest nature reserves, including Stodmarsh for instance. Great reserve, massive reedbed and I can still remember a flock of Bearded Tits that came down onto the path at my feet to collect grit.

              I also remember hitchhiking a lift by the then warden of Ramsgate prison, who told of flights in his own small Cesna plane along the east coast to fly to Shetland. Four hours it would take on a good day. I should have asked him to take me there one day but did not have the nerve.

              Back to the present day, I reached the Cathedral and was offered a safe place for the bike and panniers after paying the necessary £7.50 to enter the hallowed ground. A Cathedral of many layers, with steep steps to reach the high altar. I did my usual search of the unusual upon the gravestones and memorials and came across a marble tablet dedicated to a Major General Henry Richard Abadie. He had died in 1915 but not before three of his sons had beaten him to death's portal. First Harry had died in 1901 at Norvil Point in South Africa, aged twenty-eight. Then George had died in 1904 at Zarea in Nigeria aged thirty. Next to go was Eustace, aged thirty-seven when he died in 1914 at Messines, Belgium. Even a fourth son died just after his father. Named Richard, he died at Neuport in 1917. All of this sounded like an extended Saving Private Ryan and I just stood there and wondered about their unnamed mother, poor girl. Another memorial stone detailed the names of 180 dead soldiers from the Sutlej Campaign against the Sikhs in 1845 to 1846. The Empire was won by such deeds.

              An interesting Tudor ship memorial next showed the burial at sea of one James Hales in 1589. Now you might be wondering about why I find all of this so interesting. I think it is my quest to find a more ironic memorial than the one I found in Lancaster Cathedral a few years ago. How did a Captain Dolphin die? Go to Lancaster and find out. His memorial is there somewhere, erected by his grieving regimental comrades. Or I could just tell you. He drowned!

              What have Pope John Paul, Archbishop Robert Runcie and Thomas Beckett have in common? Well the Pope and the Archbishop knelt together at the spot where Thomas was forced to kneel before being murdered and it was there that I stopped next. Back in 1982, May the 25^th to be exact, the Catholic and the Protestant joined together in prayer. Would the two churches ever be so close again?

              Down steep steps into a beautiful crypt and then to a higher plane with the funeral artefacts of one Black Prince, Edward Plantagenet on display; a large metal helmet and a gruesome mace. Friendly items for a church but they had been there a long time, from 1376, so any complaints of their appropriateness in such a setting might. One may be pummelled by the mace for commenting.

              Into St Anselm's chapel and a lovely painting on view; a 12^th Century painting entitled St Paul and the Viper.

              The large stained-glass windows at this the eastern end of the Cathedral reminded me of my favourite cathedral, Chartres in France and the fabulous medieval stained glass windows there. I remembered my first visit there back in 1980 with my first fiancé, Joy. We had spent a week in Paris before catching a train to Chartres and there we stayed for a few days in the youth hostel there. I can remember so well the hostel, not least because we were given a double bed in our own single room. This was the first youth hostel that had ever offered us such and the rusty bedstead with sunken mattress only added to the noisy pleasure we had there!

              Chartres Cathedral back then was very dark inside and one had to get one's eyes adjusted to the gloom before one could appreciate the amazingly fabulous stain glassed windows. Joy and I went there three days running, mostly to be guided around by a young academic enthusiast named Malcolm Miller. He would talk about just one or two windows and each day different windows were chosen so his talks were always fresh and fascinating. I returned there in 2008 and again in 2009 with my daughter Rebecca and Mr Miller was still there guiding the tourists, now with a small handheld microphone. A whole life spent inside one of the World's greatest cathedrals, Malcolm has been there since 1958. A life well spent I say.             

               I wonder what Chartres will look like the next time I go. Indeed I must go back one day. It will be a totally different experience because I saw in 2009 that they were cleaning the brick work inside, in order to get back to the original cathedral of light. Now if only they took the brave step and got rid of the wedding cake-like Baroque altar then I would think of it as the perfect cathedral.

              The 13^th Century stained glass windows in Canterbury Cathedral reminded me of Chartres because of the use of a rich cobalt glass. Two beautiful sets of windows; one the 'Miracle' windows, the other the 'bible' windows and both looking gorgeous. One of them I looked closely at and it told the story of the healing of Adam the Forester, who was healed by St Thomas after he was shot in the throat by a poacher.

              Now people asked me throughout the year whether I ever went home to see my Mum and Dad and have a rest. Someone told me that Michael Palin did just that whilst filming such adventures as Himalayas and Sahara. Well, maybe he did and maybe the same reasons were why I caught a train to first London from Canterbury and then, after cycling from Charing Cross station to Marylebone, via Trafalgar Square, Piccadilly Circus, Regent Street and Oxford Circus, I caught a train to Warwick to see family, sort out equipment and have that rest. I always wonder if Chris Mills used a car on the days when he was not Green Birding? 

A few days away from birding and cycling to gather thoughts. I took a couple of trains to see my children, Rebecca and Joshua and my Mum and Dad.