Canterbury (continued) and Dover
So. Where was I? Certainly not in Australia.
Ah yes. Henry VIII. The jerk.
Right. So, obviously, Thomas Becket's shrine is no longer there, thanks to The Jerk. (Jenni and I have decided that he is to blame for everything rotten in English history since.) But the cathedral's East End has other interesting occupants. My personal favorite is Edward the Black Prince, so titled (I believe) because of his wondrous military exploits against France. Now, as we all know, "The English are never happier than when they are fighting the French." And this guy could "beat the ___es off the French" indeed. "This was the guy who could chival-, ah, chivalrize--if there is such a verb--better than anyone else." He was the eldest son of Edward III and therefore all set to become Edward IV when Dad kicked the bucket, but unfortunately died the year (1376) before his father (1377). The crown thus passed to his young son Richard, who became Richard II and reigned until 1399 when he was deposed and murdered by Henry Bolingbroke (also a jerk) who then became Henry IV, who has two Shakespeare plays to his name, though they are actually about his son, Henry, who would become Henry V, who thus actually has three Shakespeare plays to his credit. All of which I'm supposed to have read by next Thursday.
But anyway, as you can probably imagine, there was always a rivalry between the families of Edward III and Henry IV. Hence the irony in the fact that Edward the Black Prince of Wales and Henry IV lie entombed practically side by side in the Canterbury Cathedral. Which, by the way, looks like this:
Ah, but I forgot about the grave! So. When he was describing the shrine and that it was destroyed, I of course had to ask what happened to it and all its fabulous wealth. He explained about Henry taking all the gold and such for himself, but then--oh, but then... what of the relics? What happened to them? There is no record of their being destroyed, nor of Henry taking hold of them. And rumour hath it (to borrow from Court Jester) that one of the monks managed to save them, and buried them safely in a grave down in the crypt--the very unmarked grave we'd so carefully tread around.
I like that story, myself. But I had to wonder later, then, if they think the relics are down there, why they haven't excavated the site to find out. Would they really prefer having the *mystery* to having the actual relics, or do they know they're not really there and simply want people to think they are? Though it's possible they may just not want to dig the place up. After all, the cathedral--and especially the crypt--is and always has been, consistently, for however-many-hundred years, a place of worship.
And it really is a lovely, peaceful little place, in spite of the morbid types of things that spring to mind when one uses the word "crypt".
But I think that's enough history lessons for today. On to Dover. Or, rather, its castle:
It was certainly a fun place to run around on our own, and I'm sure I wasted plenty of pictures there. As we didn't have a guide, and I didn't feel like reading any of the little plaques around (not that any of them told you much--a name of a wall or gate and an accompanying date), so I really didn't learn much. Lovely spot though. And the view of the Straits from the top of the keep is gorgeous.
The real info-gathering stop was the secret wartime tunnels that meander under the castle within the white cliffs of Dover. (Which are chalk, by the way, and if your heart's desire is to have a small piece of the famed white cliffs of Dover, let me know, as I have a couple extra.) The first tunnels were built to house troops during the Napoleonic Wars--1804 or thereabouts--and there were tunnels added both above and below those during World War II. There were barracks, and a hospital, and a communications center--it was a serious military headquarters, safe from air raids there in Dover which came to be known as Hellfire Corner. Now there's a cheerful epithet.
The best part though--not gonna lie--was the guide, who, naturally, could be described as being young, male, British, and distractingly attractive. His name is Hayden. (Of course it is.) And since he was... all those things... I felt a bit uncomfortable for a while being stuck at the very front of the group (which I managed to slip out of later, but nevermind). It was all worth it, though, because all the people behind me didn't get to see him lean over just enough to check himself out in the mirror as we passed through the soldiers' wash room.
It took everything in me not to burst out laughing.
For nearly the rest of the tour.
There were also the names on the walls--"graffiti" from all the officers who'd carved their names to prove they'd spent time there. The oldest of these, however, is Mary Ford, who inscribed a date of 1804 along with her name. They've no idea who she was. "What she was doing here with 2,000 male troops stationed," Hayden remarked, "I'll leave to your own imaginations."
And I, in turn, shall leave it to yours.
Ah yes. Henry VIII. The jerk.
Right. So, obviously, Thomas Becket's shrine is no longer there, thanks to The Jerk. (Jenni and I have decided that he is to blame for everything rotten in English history since.) But the cathedral's East End has other interesting occupants. My personal favorite is Edward the Black Prince, so titled (I believe) because of his wondrous military exploits against France. Now, as we all know, "The English are never happier than when they are fighting the French." And this guy could "beat the ___es off the French" indeed. "This was the guy who could chival-, ah, chivalrize--if there is such a verb--better than anyone else." He was the eldest son of Edward III and therefore all set to become Edward IV when Dad kicked the bucket, but unfortunately died the year (1376) before his father (1377). The crown thus passed to his young son Richard, who became Richard II and reigned until 1399 when he was deposed and murdered by Henry Bolingbroke (also a jerk) who then became Henry IV, who has two Shakespeare plays to his name, though they are actually about his son, Henry, who would become Henry V, who thus actually has three Shakespeare plays to his credit. All of which I'm supposed to have read by next Thursday.
But anyway, as you can probably imagine, there was always a rivalry between the families of Edward III and Henry IV. Hence the irony in the fact that Edward the Black Prince of Wales and Henry IV lie entombed practically side by side in the Canterbury Cathedral. Which, by the way, looks like this:
Ah, but I forgot about the grave! So. When he was describing the shrine and that it was destroyed, I of course had to ask what happened to it and all its fabulous wealth. He explained about Henry taking all the gold and such for himself, but then--oh, but then... what of the relics? What happened to them? There is no record of their being destroyed, nor of Henry taking hold of them. And rumour hath it (to borrow from Court Jester) that one of the monks managed to save them, and buried them safely in a grave down in the crypt--the very unmarked grave we'd so carefully tread around.
I like that story, myself. But I had to wonder later, then, if they think the relics are down there, why they haven't excavated the site to find out. Would they really prefer having the *mystery* to having the actual relics, or do they know they're not really there and simply want people to think they are? Though it's possible they may just not want to dig the place up. After all, the cathedral--and especially the crypt--is and always has been, consistently, for however-many-hundred years, a place of worship.
And it really is a lovely, peaceful little place, in spite of the morbid types of things that spring to mind when one uses the word "crypt".
But I think that's enough history lessons for today. On to Dover. Or, rather, its castle:
It was certainly a fun place to run around on our own, and I'm sure I wasted plenty of pictures there. As we didn't have a guide, and I didn't feel like reading any of the little plaques around (not that any of them told you much--a name of a wall or gate and an accompanying date), so I really didn't learn much. Lovely spot though. And the view of the Straits from the top of the keep is gorgeous.
The real info-gathering stop was the secret wartime tunnels that meander under the castle within the white cliffs of Dover. (Which are chalk, by the way, and if your heart's desire is to have a small piece of the famed white cliffs of Dover, let me know, as I have a couple extra.) The first tunnels were built to house troops during the Napoleonic Wars--1804 or thereabouts--and there were tunnels added both above and below those during World War II. There were barracks, and a hospital, and a communications center--it was a serious military headquarters, safe from air raids there in Dover which came to be known as Hellfire Corner. Now there's a cheerful epithet.
The best part though--not gonna lie--was the guide, who, naturally, could be described as being young, male, British, and distractingly attractive. His name is Hayden. (Of course it is.) And since he was... all those things... I felt a bit uncomfortable for a while being stuck at the very front of the group (which I managed to slip out of later, but nevermind). It was all worth it, though, because all the people behind me didn't get to see him lean over just enough to check himself out in the mirror as we passed through the soldiers' wash room.
It took everything in me not to burst out laughing.
For nearly the rest of the tour.
There were also the names on the walls--"graffiti" from all the officers who'd carved their names to prove they'd spent time there. The oldest of these, however, is Mary Ford, who inscribed a date of 1804 along with her name. They've no idea who she was. "What she was doing here with 2,000 male troops stationed," Hayden remarked, "I'll leave to your own imaginations."
And I, in turn, shall leave it to yours.