An English Charm

My first time in England was in the depths of March, as a gormless eighteen-year-old, shepherded around by my high school teachers along with a handful of classmates. It was rainy, as expected; it was cloudy and grey, as expected. What surprised me was how cold it was - coming from Winnipeg, I anticipated that England would be a balmy relief, but that was not so. Instead, a damp chill settled into my bones every morning when I got out of bed, a chill that would not be unsettled or shaken for the rest of the day. Other than the cold, it was a fascinating trip. We were ostensibly meant to be on a sort of literary tour, visiting Bath for Jane Austen’s house (excellent, very enjoyable) Dickens World, a now-closed indoor theme park (bizarre, nightmare inducing) Stratford-on-Avon for Shakespeare (an excellent house museum and lovely garden, more souvenirs than you could possibly imagine) and Canterbury for Chaucer (very pretty town, prettier cathedral, marred slightly by the disgusting rotted skull of St. Thomas Beckett). We were often on an inter-city bus, a ‘coach’, chattering away as charming scenery, spattering rain, and strange snapshots of other people’s lives sped past the windows.

Those little insights into others' lives were perhaps my favourite part of the whole trip. Indeed, the many museums and historical sites and the ruins of churches were exciting, but when I think back on that trip, the memory that comes most to mind was pausing on the way out of the local parish church in Glastonbury and noticing a pamphlet pinned to the message board, announcing enthusiastically that the following week there would be a expert on reading animal auras, and to bring pets by 6 pm - sheep welcome! What I wouldn’t give to see a sheep having its aura deciphered.

There were funny shops with bizarre names (Happy Snaps, a film and camera store) and Boots (a pharmacy chain). The people in London moved at a breakneck pace with cold, flat faces, looking neither left nor right, in dark grey and black crowds that rushed up and down escalators and in and out of tube cars, carrying us along like flotsam on the tide. I can only imagine the stress of trying to herd a wily group of girls around London - our poor teachers. The city was exciting and seemed to pulse with life, but I admit I enjoyed the smaller towns more. The main streets of Bath and Canterbury were almost too charming, like something out of a picture book, and the half-timbered buildings of Stratford-on-Avon with their old-world thatched roofs and wide, leafy avenues were a delightful respite from concrete. We were sometimes turned loose for an hour for lunch during which my friend and I would walk up and down the cobblestone streets, enjoying cheap sandwiches and window-shopping, admiring buildings and pausing to read the blue plaques that signified historical importance, which seemed to be everywhere. I hadn’t travelled much at that point in my life, but I have since learned that my favourite way to experience a new place is to ramble - to rubberneck and feast my hungry eyes on everything around me. I like to wander around, a bit aimlessly, taking in the world at a reasonable pace, eager for little details, funny signs, or interesting window displays, ready to be charmed by a new place. I was certainly charmed by England then, and several times since, and I’m sure I’ll be charmed the next time I visit.

Jennifer