Never Go Back?

Never Go Back?

“Never go back to a place where you have been happy. Until you do it will remain alive for you. If you go back it will be destroyed” - Agatha Christie

To tell the truth if I never saw the inside of a church again it wouldn't bother me much. No, I'm not a cultural barbarian. I have in my time visited a great number of cathedrals and churches. There was a time when I could have pointed out to you all the various styles of church buildings: Roman, Doric, Gothic and so on. I could have told you all about flying buttresses and gargoyles, along with a whole lot of other features. It's just that at some point I reached saturation point. Yes, there are some great works of art and a lot of magnificent craftsmanship but there is a limit to the number of crucifixes, crosses, candle sticks and communion cups I can take! At some point enough was, well, more than enough.

However the outside of great churches, that's a different story. Apart from the architectural grandeur many of them, especially in the British Isles, are situated in the most green and pleasant surroundings. When I lived and studied in Canterbury the short cut through the cathedral grounds from my college to the town centre was an almost daily pleasure.

I have been back to Canterbury. It was a few years ago on the way home from a family visit. In order to avoid the exorbitant parking fees we parked in a residential area close to the college I used to attend. As we made our way towards the centre a sudden and violent downpour caught us by surprise.

“Quick run” I gasped “We'll take the short cut”. We ran as fast as we could, splashing through the deep puddles which were already forming, only to find the small oak door in the city wall that led to the rear of the cathedral grounds locked. It had probably been locked for years. Now the only way in was through the main entrance. With no place to shelter our only choice was to take the longer way into town. By the time we found sanctuary in a Starbucks coffee house our jeans were waterlogged. Soaked through and uncomfortable we perched on two bar stools close to the window and dripped into our coffee. From this vantage point we were able to observe what was going on outside, which was not a lot. Once in a while some heavily rain-coated tourists, like soldiers trying to avoid enemy sniper fire, would make a daring dash across the open square towards the main gate of the cathedral. Small groups of bedraggled French school children shuffled miserably past the window chaperoned by, even more miserable looking, young teachers. One of them, I'm sure, had a soggy cigarette drooping from her lips, though this could be a wishful cartoonist memory.

Somehow the rain managed to get even worse and the wind increased. The staff of the pub opposite were gallantly trying to erect huge parasols. Not beacuse they were overly optimistic but to cater for the needs of desperate smokers.
We ordered more coffee...

...after a considerable time it did stop raining.
Now lukewarm and damp we waded our way around the town, past some of my old haunts and a few historical monuments. We had lunch in The Seven Stars pub, which had really gone downhill, it was dark, shabby and the service was poor with food to match. Another short, cold, trudge around town before, still damp, we gave up and squelched into The City Arms for a drink.

No - it had not been the best of days... but did it destroy my memories of Canterbury?  Well no...not really.

A few of us used to drop into the City Arms for a short break from student life. The building, inside and out, was several hundreds years old and so were most of the customers!

Since those days the name and the exterior hadn't changed but inside it was now bright, the furniture simple and functional white wood. Posters on the walls advertised concerts, dance events, exhibitions and experimental theatre. The friendly, attractive, young bar staff were obviously supplementing their student grants or loans.

Like it or not - times change!

If you revisit a place expecting it to be the way it was, to relive past happiness or recapture lost youth you are bound to be disappointed.

As it happens, for better or worse, I was born without a nostalgia gene. I tend not to look back and I don't have a sentimental attachment to, or a longing for, 'the good old days'. Of course I have a large store of anecdotes and tall stories from my student days but that doesn't mean I have a rose-tinted view of the past or that I think things were better back then. It is true that I always remember the sun shining during those walks through the Cathedral grounds but that is not due to a romanticised memory. It's simply because, unlike day trippers, tourists or school parties, when I lived in Canterbury I didn't have to go out it was raining!