Strangers and Pilgrims

I think we maybe almost got up with the sun on this our last morning in England (the sun had been rising about 5:30 a.m.). Sleepy eyes and baggy pajamas notwithstanding, St. Agnes' bright green parish hall soon livened into an anthill of activity. We snatched at leftovers as we stuffed our backpacks one last time, trying to leave as little edible matter behind as possible.

Into the fresh air we trouped, finally, for an hour on the tube and a long queue at the Heathrow airport check-in. While we were waiting to check in, Mr. Middleton surprised his girls with a quick visit, as he made his way from Texas to Germany on business. They almost couldn’t believe it was he! Abigail did a triple-take and both girls wrapped themselves in his arms without delay.

Finally we got through the long check-in queue and hurried to the boarding queue with a half-hour or so to spare. While power-walking down moving walkways single-file, several of us girls innocently elicited some comments and grins from a couple of obviously American guys as we passed: “Determined, focused!” Extra security spot-checked some our carry on luggage. And at last, it was time to board and find our seats for the 9-hour flight home.

What a relief to be on the ground—Dramamine works, but only if you don’t pack it with your checked luggage—and to have the prospect of pizza, a shower, and a bed that night. It was good to see faces and get hugs all round.

Let's see... June 14 was a Monday.... and that following Saturday I would be heading off again to visit friends and family in Illinois! Traveling around England became a sort of pilgrimage while I was there--a time to contemplate God's providence and consider how to press on and upward in the coming days.

Next morning being Sunday, we held Holy Communion service at a small Anglo-Saxon church. A couple of the boys were sick that morning, but seemed to hold out fairly well through the touring of the day. From church we traveled to Chatsworth House.

At Chatsworth, where we explored for 2 ½ hours or so, we split up into several groups to tour first the house and then the extensive grounds. Impressed I was by the richness of the house and its furnishings, and especially the painted ceilings, but after a while I began to think, “Ya seen one Duke’s house, ya seen ‘em all.” Chris, who by this time had spent almost a year in England, apparently had the same thought. The grounds would be a lovely place to wander in solitude for hours. There is much variety, many different types of gardens, ponds, bridges, rocks, and trees—I couldn’t help speculating what it would have been like to grow up with such a yard to explore, imagine, and play in. Some attempted a hedge maze of trimmed hedges about 6 or 7 feet tall (I didn’t make it through, but some of the students had more perseverance than I); I preferred the dazzling beds of lupines and the vantage from the top of a nearby stone arch amongst some evergreens. Carrinne, Bekah, Erika, and I found a trio of gigantic chickens—the rooster must have stood a good two feet tall and was about the size of… the square pillows on your couch (though he wasn’t square). There’s a picture in my England photos that you might remember.

Before we were quite ready, the hour struck for the long rush back to London, a race against time and hope against hope that we would make it back to St. Agnes in time to sing evensong for them at 5:30. We returned the vans to the rental facility around 5:00 p.m., with thirty minutes left for the hour-long tube ride… and THEN we had to take a detour because lots of lines were down for Sunday evening… Fr. Pearson met us and led us to the church along the unfamiliar back streets, and we arrived after 6:00, breathless and hot, threw on our robes and trooped into the sanctuary, exhausted, to give our last and best service of the trip.

Spirits buoyed by our success in spite of being late, we proceeded to charm the parishioners afterward with another stellar performance (great job, kids and staff; thank you, Fr. Foos!) Once again, everyone thoroughly enjoyed visiting with the parishioners, eating burgers and sausages and (woot) a big green salad, dancing a few English country dances with the parish kids, playing a hand-clap game afterwards, and chatting with Fr. Pearson and the parishioners. All of us rested well, in order to set off for the airport early the next morning. It was funny how hospitable and homelike St. Agnes seemed upon our return, in contrast to our first impression two weeks before.

Saturday morning is sleep-in morning, even on the go! We didn’t have to be up and ready for breakfast until 8:30 or 9:00, so we took advantage of it and then took our time tidying up before crossing the street to breakfast at the café, courtesy of St. David’s. Breakfast has got to be the best meal of the English day, and this was no exception—delicious bacon, toast, and eggs washed down with the typical never-ending supply of tea and milk.

Once all host families had arrived with the various farmed-out members of our choir, we held Matins for St. David’s, then ate the sack lunches the parishioners had packed for us and chatted with the people. Fr. Rutt talked us into staying longer to sing a concert and then hear some children from another church (St. George’s) sing for us. So instead of leaving just after lunch, we performed, then listened to an excellent presentation on Christian Classical education by Fr. Boonzaaijer. We packed up the vans, then returned for St. George’s children to sing a few songs for us; all of us have fond memories of hopping up and down singing, “I’m not a grasshopper….”

Fifteen minutes after getting on the road, we had to pull over and change a flat, which took at least an hour because of not being able to find a key piece of hardware right away. Our route to the next stop at Goldthorpe lay through the Yorkshire Dales, a country of high rolling hills neither as strikingly wild as the north nor as green as the south, but interesting in its own way. To me, the interest lay chiefly in our proximity to the region where author James Herriot of veterinary fame had his practice in the mid-20th century.

After arriving at our parish hall lodgings, we drove back out to a restaurant for dinner and to see if we could catch any of the Super Bowl soccer game. I had a fine dinner of “gammon steak” (ham) topped with a pineapple ring and a fried egg, which I ordered innocently supposing I was actually going to get steak. The tradition of making fun of me for my inability to hold alcohol found opportunity this evening—not that I mind proof of retaining that ladylike weakness. By this time I knew I was definitely coming down with some unpleasant virus.

We ladies enjoyed, in a manner of speaking, the “singing toilet” at that church hall, which actually sounded more like a jet engine.

I for one woke that sunny, dewy morning thinking I had died and gone to heaven, and before long we were getting ready to depart for the BBC Lancashire radio station. Lancashire's local BBC station broadcast us singing, live, as well as interacting with the host and guests for an hour, talking about the World Cup “football” (soccer) match, foul language, the students’ experience on their first visit to England, etc. We had time to sing three songs. The students were a good witness, and Christian got interviewed separately afterward on the World Cup topic, being the most knowledgeable and interested of our group.

We took a three-hour tour of the Lake district following, during which we passed through Beatrix Potter’s town of Windermere and took a hike up into one of the hills to enjoy the view. I had a bread, strawberry jam, and cheese sandwich that I found uniquely delicious. If you have never seen pictures of England's Lake District, I recommend you stop reading right now and look it up with Google Images. It is spectacular.

On the drive back down from the hills to Preston the van I was in got separated from the front two vehicles about 20 minutes out, and spent the next hour and a half or so looking for St. David’s church where we were going to stay. What fun we (at least, Colleen and I) had, actually to have to depend upon our map-reading skills and directional instincts, as well as the questionable directions of locals! Good job, Fr. B, we had a great time!

I got to play mom that night, having missed my hostess's ride home and therefore being the appointed female chaperon for Colleen, Bekah, Carrinne, and Abigail who stayed at the church; the rest of the ladies and the two fathers stayed with host families, again thanks to Fr. Rutt. Chris kept the boys in line. We played a hilarious game of charades, introducing it to the St. Andrews students and some of our own who had never played it before.

That night, we five ladies claimed the sanctuary for our boudoir and arranged beds of the kneeler cushions, which made fine mattresses! Plus, we had the tiny vestry bathroom, the men's and ladies' bathrooms and kitchen in the empty church hall, and the kitchen from the main hall, all for our own use. Ah, the luxury of sinks to go around!

Awaking to the never-ceasing cry of gulls, we chatted with a church couple named Gary and Margaret, and their married daughter Heidi, and I'll say again that one of the neatest aspects of this trip was making connections with the local people like this, talking to them and learning about their lives, grand children, church struggles, and the economy.

About 10:00, we hopped into the vans and drove to see the Ruthwell Cross (http://www.englandtree.com/photos/albums/grierson/ruthwell/cross.htm) which is housed in a small, fairly modern chapel with a pink and blue interior. We had a good long hymn sing here, with Chris accompanying us on an electronic organ, and a couple of other visiting ladies singing along with us. Due to some van trouble, our stop was prolonged enough to enjoy a leisurely lunch. After eating cheese, bread, and blackberry pie in the church cemetery and making friends with a few local cattle, we drove on up to the town of Annan, where we got to shop for 30 minutes or so.

Upon returning to the cars, we unexpectedly ran into one of the St. Brides parishioners from Dumfries, Mr. Geoffrey! He was so excited to see us again, that we ended up talking for some time, exchanging contact information and such.

Accommodations this night (after having a few rough nights) prevented mutiny: Father and Mrs. Rutt led us out into the countryside to a girls’ camp center with beds (gasp), a shower amongst the girls and two for the boys (faint), plenty of water and huge kitchen sinks, a beautiful country setting, and the privacy of bedrooms. Thank you, Father and Mrs. Rutt! Of course, we offered what little we could in return by singing a song or two for them after Mrs. Rutt's scrumptious dinner of homemade shepherd's pie and fresh salad.