Canterbury

My dear Friends
After the peace and tranquillity of the sea, I moved on to busy Canterbury. My first visit. You could still hear the gulls crying overhead. Underneath the roundabout leading to the town there was a wonderful mural, depicting Canterbury's history, and explaining that in times gone by people from all over Europe and England would come to Canterbury to trade.

The High Street was incredibly packed, so I took the advice of someone I had spoken to in Ramsgate and stuck to the side streets. But not before I had seen the Cathedral, magnificent although overwhelming in its size. I was lucky to find three Anglican guides who explained to much of the history. When I said I was full of hope for Anglican-Catholic reconciliation she took me down to the spot where Thomas a Beckett was murdered in the Cathedral, around 1100, and showed me where Pope John Paul II and Archbishop Runcie had knelt together and prayed. So we did too and it was a moment of great grace.

Then I went down to the crypt, a place of silence and prayer and where you were invited to pray for Peace. Back up at the top, I went to the choir, where the original monks had said their devotions and which faced East-I thought the whole looked like a Sephardic Synagogue or even a Mosque-the guide was intrigued.We stopped on the hour for prayer, just like they do in Ely, which was recited by the Rector, but the Cathedral was quite empty.

Next day I found the Catholic church in Burgate and sat in the little garden outside. The outside facade was lovely and lots of people passing took photos. although the building only dates from around 1847. But it's lovely inside too, with a kind of monastic feel, and one or two of Thomas's relics.( I confess,coming from a Jewish background I have never cared for relics.) I stayed for Mass, conducted by the elderly, but rather radiant Fr George from Dublin.

Walking round the streets I felt happy and found the people 'soft' and approachable. I ended up taking a trip on the river, which was fascinating. We floated past all the old monastic buildings, including the Dominican Priory and also the 'hospital' which was where the pilgrims had a free night's board, albeit uncomfortable. The river Stour was very different to the river Cam.

In a shop next to the Catholic church I was given a present of a pilgim badge, and I felt as proud as if I had been to Santiago de Compostella in Spain, or Jerusalem or elsewhere. I know I will go again.

Shalom from
Sister Gila