I looked back at Walt and thought,Well, maybe.
“OH MYGod.” I savored the sweet spreading out over my taste buds. “This is the best thing I’ve ever eaten.”
We were in Sally Lunn’s Historic Eating House, enjoying their signature home-baked buns with strawberry jam and clotted cream. As I savored the light bun, tasting something like a cross between bread, brioche, and cake, I took in the place we were sitting.
“This has literally been here for hundreds of years,” Walt told me. “It’s probably older than anything in America—at least older than anything the colonists brought over.” He was cutting his bun with knife and fork, as the waitress had instructed us curtly. She’d probably seen her share of American tourists try to lift the big buns and devour them by hand, like dogs.
I know that’s what I would have done had I not been instructed otherwise.
Once we’d finished up, Walt asked, “So what do you want to do now? Check out the Jane Austen house? Go to some of the secondhand bookshops I’ve seen?” He had a little twinkle in his eye as he offered his last option, “Or take an idyllic drive in the countryside?”
I smiled. “You had me at countryside. Since we don’t have a car, it might be my only chance.”
“Good. There’s a ton of history around here. And more scenery than you can shake a stick at. And we couldn’t have asked for better weather.” Walt signaled our waitress for our check. When she brought it, he insisted on paying.
I started to argue, but he held up his hand. “Let me treat, okay? Just be grateful to receive.”
“Oh, okay. Thank you.”
As we headed out on winding country roads and glorious green rolling hills with flowers in bloom, Walt popped a cassette in. An almost otherworldly voice filled the car. It was so beautiful that I closed my eyes, breathing in the aural magic. The female voice might have been speaking directly to me, and I imagined it accompanied by celestial light. I felt surrounded, calm, and embraced.
We hit a pothole, and I opened my eyes, jerked back to reality. I gestured toward the dash. “What is this?”
Walt turned up the music a bit. “Canticles of Ecstasy.”
“Wow. Aptly named.” The music haunted me, taking me to a different place. I couldn’t recall ever hearing such beauty.
“It’s the music of Hildegarde von Bingen. She was a medieval nun, and her visions inspired it. These canticles have been around for hundreds of years.”
“Really? It’s gorgeous. Absolutely stunning.”
The music segued into our next destination, an old church in Bradford-on-Avon. As we pulled up outside the tall, narrow gray building, I noticed that there were only a few small windows. It was very simple, yet its obvious age lent it a kind of dignified majesty.
“It looks positively ancient.” The stone edifice was near crumbling. Weather had done more than its fair share of aging. Still, the church looked solid and strong.
“It is.” Walt shut off the car and turned to regard the church. “It’s St. Laurence’s. From what I could put together out of one of my travel guides, it dates back roughly to the eleventh century, but some sources say it could go back even further—maybe even seventh century.”
“Amazing.” The church had a quiet, almost regal beauty. Stately. An almost spiritual vibration emanated from it. I wondered about the people who had passed through its doors over the many years of its lifespan. It radiated a quiet spirituality that I could feel.
We stared for a while. It seemed words could do St. Laurence’s no justice. All around us, it was quiet. No other people. No other cars.
Walt broke the silence. “Want to go inside?”
I was surprised. I didn’t think seeing the interior would be an option. “Is it open?”
Walt shrugged. “It should be. They generally don’t lock these ‘houses of worship’ up.”
“I’d love to see. If we can.”
“Let’s go.”
We got out of the car. It was no problem getting into the church. Inside, we walked quietly because the place was so calm and serene. It was very simple and gray but still gave off a sense of majesty.
Reverent, we found a pew and sat down. Light streamed in through the small windows. I looked around, expecting a priest or maybe a nun.
But the place was deserted.
Just as I was bowing my head, thinking I might return to my Catholic roots and say an Our Father or a Hail Mary to be polite, I noticed Walt looking around out of the corner of my eye. I got the sense he was checking to see if the coast was clear.
