The Legend of the Canterbury "Lepers"

I remembered that "funny" story my friend said I should put in the blog. It takes a while to get funny, and it's probably better "orally" but I'll give it a shot. If nothing else, it's a good record of a wonderful trip.

In Summer 2002, my husband had business in London for three weeks. It was a wonderful opportunity for me to go with and see a place that, as an English major, is quite important to me. And one of the coolest cities on the planet. So we arranged for me to go: London or Bust!

Somewhere along the way, we also arranged to have my husband's parents go with too. Jim is Andrew's dad, and is a huge, extremely loud, tall, 70 year old rednecky Texan (he really does define the word "cracker"). Often, even in a crowd of hundreds of people, you can pick out Jim towering over everyone else. People come to call him "Big Jim" after a while. Joanne, my mother in law, also went, but she wasn't the part of the trip that was maddening. Jim was. He was the one who had me, after a few days, pointing out that England doesn't have the death penalty so the worst punishment I would face if I strangled Jim in his sleep and dumped him at the pig farm we passed just outside of Stonehenge was that I would end up in prison. I tell you, there were days when that seemed like an option I could live with. One of those days was our trip to Canterbury and the exquisite Leeds Castle.

Canterbury cathedral is famous, and probably most famous as the site where the pilgrims in Chaucer's Canterbury Tales are traveling towards. It's also famous for the martyring of the Bishop of Canterbury, Thomas Becket, in the cathedral on December 29, 1170. Henry II said, offhandedly, something like "I wish someone would get rid of that irritating Bishop for me" and four knights did so, somewhat gruesomely. It's not really the sort of place where people go to try to cure their leprosy, or some other terrible affliction. That's more Lourdes cathedral in France.

We took a day trip to the two places, which aren't really far from London, and if you are ever there, I highly recommend the London Walks company for this and other trips. But, knowing it was a long day, and that we would not have much time for lunch, and pubs that cater to tourists are notoriously SLOW, I packed these delicious little take-away sandwiches from the grocery next to our incredible hotel. (This section is very gushy-- but I did love these elements of the trip). I brought these great sandwiches, which included one that was Thai Chicken with bits of cilantro and spicy ginger, and some great Scottish shortbread cookies, and bottles of water, and cheese. It was a long day and I carried these sandwiches and snacks, weighing in at least 10 pounds, in a backpack all day. (This background explains why it was soooo irritating when Jim did what he did later).

When we got to Canterbury cathedral, we toured the site. I walked alone down the marble steps in one section, which were slightly worn down, bowed in the center from centuries of pilgrim feet, touching the handrail, thinking of all the people who have been where I had been. It was cool and dark inside, except where sunlight was streaming gloriously through the stained glass windows on one side of the cathedral. It was, if not spiritual, one of the most peaceful, zenlike experiences I've ever had as a tourist. (I also got a quirky little silver charm for my trip charm bracelet of the Wife of Bath on her donkey. But that's a different sort of tourist experience).

We found a bench outside, under the trees, and I passed out the sandwiches I had so thoughtfully packed. I looked over, after a while, and my father in law, Jim, had squished down the bread corners of his sandwich and wadded them into unkempt little balls of pathetic white dough, squished into the flimsy plastic triangle package. Puzzled, I asked if he just didn't like that flavor or what? He replied that it bothered him to not have washed his hands first, you know, after being someplace where there were centuries of people like lepers and stuff walking around. The funny part about this, and the part you get when I am telling this story to you in person, is Jim's loud Texas accent-- he's half deaf, so nothing is said quietly. People looked at us with puzzled eyes as he was "hollering" about lepers and stuff. Honestly. It was the first time I truly understood the Knights chasing the Bishop through Canterbury with intense blood lust. Perhaps I was temporarily possessed by one of them. Luckily for Jim, Henry II was not paying me to "take out" any loud Texans that day and I didn't have a sword handy at that moment.

Herein lies the famous "lepers of Canterbury" we've all heard so much about, then.

(I had brought along bottles of the anti-bacterial stuff you can get at Bath & Body Works-- which honestly, will kill pretty much anything you need to worry about, being almost all alcohol.... but that just didn't convince Jim, for whom this pattern was repeated the day we went to Oxford & the Cotswolds.) Yes. Oxford worried him too. I know that Oxford was one of the earliest recorded places of the Black plague in the middle ages, but I'm fairly certain they have that under control nowadays.

So this is the story I told the other night that had people gasping for breath. Perhaps it has to do with my skill as an actor (LINE!) or that they'd had a few margaritas, or that they know Jim, and could picture it well. Who knows. It doesn't, to me, read all that funny right now. But I'm sure you'll find it a good "travel story."

Just be careful if you ever go to Canterbury. Watch out for the lepers hiding in the corners. They'll jump out and contaminate your sandwich, you know.