I can't help myself. I love knowing the origin of things. I like imagining what they might have looked like 50 years ago. Or 800. It is this sort of compulsion that finally led to me to answer unequivocably that my favorite subject is history. (I would struggle mightily between history and literature before.) And so, having beens transplanted to a country that is not only mother to my own, but is rich with history back to pre-Roman days, I find that I have been slightly intoxicated. I cannot go ANYWHERE without taking some historical imagination trip in my head. This can lead to slight problems in the real world as I will be walking or riding a bus and wonder how I got to where I am, while I was pondering the past.
I sometimes wonder if I really did have previous lives, or maybe alternate realities, given how easy it is for me to slip into former days. No, don't worry, I'm not heading off into weird religious beliefs. :) I like to think that this historical imagination of mine was shared by folks such as C.S. Lewis and E. Nesbit. I am not equating myself with them, but they are two writers who can not only slip into alternate worlds with ease, they can help others find their way to these worlds as well, be they fantastical or historical. They expressed so well that 'otherness' we sometimes feel. Perhaps reading them has heightened my awareness for that very thin veil to the past. Of course, I am also indebted to Nate Wilson and his father Doug, for the constant reminders that we are indeed living in a vast and marvellous story. My tendency is to desire to flip back to the previous chapters and see what it was like. I do not mean an unhealthy desire to LIVE there--just to marvel at key moments. What was Queen Elizabeth II thinking when her uncle abdicated and changed the royal line up drastically? I like to imagine it. Did the Saxons or the Normans have any IDEA how crucial the Battle of Hastings was for the history of the world? What did the Germanic tribes think of Julius Caesar when he showed up in their wilderness? Was it almost like aliens coming down? Could Cornwallis and Washington have been friends if given the chance? These are the sorts of things I'd love to know.
What brought on all this rambling?- you may be wondering. Well, yesterday was a prime example of my history switch working overtime. I set out to walk into town and go to a farmer's market I've been eager to see. We live on a road whose buildings are late 19th century at most. But even so relatively young as they are, I like picturing them at the height of Victorian England and picturing our street with horse-drawn carriages rather than Volvos and double deckers. I pondered this as I walked in gorgeous October sunshine toward the center of the city. Here of course, modernity has reared its head with modern skyscrapers, but a mere few blocks beyond is Old Bristol with numerous pointed spires on stone churches and lovely old 17th/18th century architecture. Bristol has done fairly well at restoring and invigorating its old buildings, which makes a stroll by the floating harbor quite pleasant. Naturally, I wondered what the center of Bristol looked like without the massive round-a-bouts and large glass buildings. Was it a common green? Lots of old stone buildings that have long since been destroyed? I could go look this information up in the library, but I was in a wandering mode. I went to the market and enjoyed the smell of fresh earthy vegetables and the grilled cheese sandwiches one of the vendors was making with local English cheese. Mouthwatering.... I bought a bunch of carrots and new red potatoes for the roast chicken I made last night and continued my wanderings down toward the river. Here I found a seat on a low stone wall where I could observe people and eat my toasted panini. I wondered if the market had been meeting there for centuries or if the current obsession with freshly grown produce brought it to this location in the 21st century. The snapping of a flag drew my attention to an old stone church on my left. I'd passed it before, but this was the first time I really LOOKED at it. I want to say 'old Norman church' because that phrase sticks in my mind for some reason, but I know it's not Norman. I decided to go look at it after I finished eating in a leisurely manner and watching solitary leaves blow down. October has so far been easing itself toward fall, so the leaves are taking their time coming down. I finished the panini and strolled over to the church. As I approached I could see that it was gutted and immediately wondered if this happened during the Blitz. (It doesn't take much to trigger my WWII alert) I was confirmed in this as I read the plaque on the wall which commemorated the site to all those who lost their lives in the attacks. I could see the marks of fire but the structure was sound and I guessed it was built in 18th century. It felt rather Jane Austeny. I walked around the church, noting the lovely green lawns stretching around it, down to the river and wondered if there had been a graveyard at one time. This led my eye across the river to the big old warehouses. Many were getting a new lease on life as construction crews worked on and around them. I strolled over the bridge and went to find out just what was happening. A large sign declared that the area was indeed being renovated and that one could enjoy restaurants, shops and new flats soon. They were both restoring old buildings and building new ones and I was rather pleased that they weren't just destroying everything to make way for modernity. I wasn't surprised to see that the warehouses largely dated from the 1850s--right in the midst of industrial Britain. This immediately made my brain picture the bustling and busy Bristol of the time. Of course, I also pictured the grime from the coal smoke and dirty streets. Dickens has left his mark on my imagination. But not far from this area was the church of St. Mary Redcliffe. I love going into this church and so took my history obsessed self back to pre-Elizabethan days as I sat on a bench outside and just looked at its late Gothic beauty. I discovered on this jaunt that the infamous Edward Teach--Blackbeard the Pirate-- was perhaps born in Bristol. Perhaps he even walked in the church, which was a place of particular prayer for sailors. Churches have a particular fascination for me as SO many people- of great historical note or otherwise- have walked over the well worn flagstones and I like just sitting and imagining the figures, or walking around and looking at all the grave markers in the floor. What did Queen Elizabeth I think about when she visited this church? She clearly liked it as a building, calling it the 'goodliest, fairest church in England'. I wonder what in particular struck her fancy. The piece of tram rail is still sticking out in the lawn behind the church-- a souvenir of the Second World War-- but that is the closest the church came to damage from that conflict. I pictured where it flew from and how close the bomb would have been that sent that piece of metal toward the beautiful old building. How many people died when it struck, I wondered.
And after pausing here, I went on to meet up with Mark and we strolled back into town and into the thoroughly modern shopping center to look for shoes for our jaunt to Devon this weekend. I liked the contrasts of the day-- from 21st century to the 16th and back again. Not all days are so full of historical pondering, but I truly felt saturated yesterday and I'm sure that feeling will be back soon. For now though, I am in the more prosaic present of cleaning the house! :)
