Glastonbury

Really just had the perfect last day in England. Lovely weather and we were in Glastonbury – home to so many English stories, myths and legends. We spent the night in this 600 year old Inn called the George and Pilgrims right on the main market square. It seems there were ghosts at work during the night as the fire alarm inexplicably went off three different times – each time just sending one loud bleat into the night. Once that stopped, I still didn’t have a very good sleep as I had a most disturbing nightmare about my body being levitated and pinned to the ceiling. Hmm.

Regardless of the night, the morning soon cleared and after our traditional English breakfast we set off to explore the legendary town. First stop, the old Abbey. Once one of the largest Abbeys in all of Europe and a regular stop for a holy pilgrim, Henry VIII worked his magic on this place too and had it obliterated during the “Dissolution” of the RC church holdings in England. The temptation of all that gold was just too much for him). One of the last and greatest monastic centres to be wiped out, Henry had its poor elderly abbot hung, drawn and quartered before demolishing the beautiful building itself. What the soldiers left behind, the local farmers eventually got around to taking apart to build their stone fences. What remains is still startlingly beautiful.

Within the Abbey there is still a spot marked as the burial site of King Arthur and Guinevere, and this is the legend I have known and followed through most of my reading life. Supposedly, in about 1,100 a monk was given a vision that told him Arthur was buried beneath the old crypt in the abbey – a church has existed on this spot since about 68 AD (and that’s another story). The monks dug up the crypt and found an ancient hollow oak inside which were the skeletal remains of a man and a woman and a Latin cross marked Arthur and Guinevere. The monks reburied the remains inside the abbey and (so the story goes) the tomb was there until the 1700s.

Also on this site is one of the Holy Thorn Trees grown from the cuttings of an ancient thorn tree that grew on nearby Wearyall Hill. This story goes that Joseph of Arimathea landed in Roman Britain in 68 AD with a tiny group of followers from Jerusalem. He drove his staff into the ground and a thorn tree grew and bloomed. (The tree has been identified as belonging to a genus found in the Holy Land). It blooms every year on Christmas Day (and that’s how England knew they were celebrating Christmas on the right day; calendars not being all that reliable in those days). Each year a branch from the throne tree is sent to the Queen to put on her Christmas breakfast table. It may not always be in bloom as the tree prefers the Julian calendar and is more likely to bloom on Jan. 6 than Dec. 25. Joseph established a small church from which, eventually, the Abbey grew.

As you know, Joseph brought two cups with him from the Holy Land. One in which he collected the blood and sweat of Jesus after the crucifixion and one which Christ used at the last supper. Joseph either hid one of the cups in a well nearby, or washed the cup in said well. Today the Chalice Well still flows and turns the rock beneath it red, symbolizing the water and blood of Christ’s crucifixion. We visited the gardens within which the well is still flowing, and whatever it might be, it certainly is holy ground. I have rarely experienced such a peaceful, serene, aromatic, beautiful place. One can drink from the well and take away a bottle of water – no shortage here. There are hidden alcoves for meditation, prayer and just plain silence. Wonderful, uplifting, soul-healing experience.

We also climbed Glastonbury Tor – also the site of many legends that have prevailed since pagan days. It is also said Merlin’s Cave is beneath the tor. It is a strange place to be sure, and, if nothing else, offers one of the most spectacular view points in all of England. For 360 degrees you get a pure view of pastoral England at its prettiest. And though the Tor has been a site of sorrow and murder, it has also been a site of celebration and victory. Legends also have it that Arthur still leads his nights from Glastonbury Tor to Cadbury Cathedral each Christmas Eve, and the music of their procession is heard by the local farmers. Many reports of ghosts in the mists persist. Some call them fairies, some another universe in which Arthur and his knights still ride. Whatever – it is a stirringly beautiful place.

Last stop was Stourhead Gardens, a beautiful 18th century classically landscaped English Estate. But ‘nuff said. All was gorgeous and our last day in England was perfect. I now sit in Gatwick airport waiting for departure in about an hour.

Brilliant.