St Albans

...I Ioon Maundeuyle kniȝt, if al it be þat Y be not worþi, þat was ybore in Engelond in þe toun of seynt Albanes...

St Albans is the dream.  That's what I kept repeating to myself as I walked its streets, and that remains my best description of it, though I have a hard time articulating what exactly I mean by it.

St Albans is like Sandford, Gloucerstershire, but (one assumes) without all of the murder.  It's likewhat you'd imagine if someone told you to envision the prototypical small English city.  Half-timbered buildings, houses with roses climbing up the front, a busy market on the high street on Saturday morning, an Oxfam book shop, Roman ruins in a large, beautiful park, and a cathedral rising above the trees.  It's the dream.

The city is less than an hour north of London, making it a perfect day trip.  That was something that recommended it, to be sure, but the real reason I went was because of John Mandeville.  Whether or not he truly existed, the medieval explorer claimed St Albans as his home.  I'd seen things related to Marco Polo in Venice; now I had the opportunity to give Mandeville his fair share.

(Walking through St Pancras on the way to my train I heard a little girl say, "Mind the gap, Mummy.")

I found my way from the St Albans City station to one of its main streets, at one end of which was St Peter's Church.  The church is set in a large churchyard that includes gravestones, gardens, and wild-growing plants.  It was on the walls of St Peter's that I first encountered walls made with irregular flint.  Inside the church is not terribly remarkable, but in its children's area it had a banner that I want to recreate, because it pays tribute to Queen Elizabeth II with Her Majesty's silhouette, a large crown, and Union Jack hearts.  It was the most English thing and I love it.

As I headed toward the cathedral I passed an Oxfam book shop and stopped in.  This proved to be an advantageous decision, as they had boxes and boxes full of old postcards, separated by English county, other country, and subject.  I picked a few of the ones I liked best, including one of Southwark Cathedral, one of Harlech Castle, and one of the Book of Kells.

Market stalls were set up along both sides of the street down to the clock tower, selling everything from fresh produce to lengths of fabric.  The clock tower was built in the early 15th century; once again I chose not to go up in it, at least not before I'd been into the cathedral itself, my main objective.  But I didn't go straight to the cathedral, instead choosing to see the Roman ruins first.  This led me down roads where toadflax grew from walls studded with white seashells, and terraced houses with colourful doors.  It was delightful.

Though now named after England's first martyr, St Albans was called Verulamium by the Romans, who left bits scattered around the city.  I went out to the site of the ancient theatre, but chose not to pay the fee to go in and see what was undoubtedly a series of small walls.  I was charmed by the gatehouse, with wisteria a contrast to the light-colored stone, and the fields beyond it.  Nearby is Verulamium Park, one hundred acres of land that contains playing fields, a lake with a small island, a section of Roman city wall, and the remains of a hypocaust with a mosaic floor.  The mosaic is a decently sized chunk, which makes it all the more impressive that it's survived.  Now, of course, a building has been erected over it to protect it from the elements, along with walkways that allow visitors to view it from a few feet above.  Nearer the city in the park is the section of wall, now surrounded by a low fence to keep people from climbing on it.  I didn't linger long there, because that was when it started raining--just enough to require getting out my umbrella and making my way toward the cathedral.

As I skirted around the lake I saw a couple walking their dog, and had to ask them if I could take a picture, because he was the first and only bull terrier I saw while I was there.  He was a nice brown brindle who sat still enough for me to snap a picture to send to Dad, and then I chatted with his owners for a bit, explaining that my dad had asked every time we'd talked whether or not I'd seen a bull terrier yet.  The dog, for his part, was more interested in exploring his surroundings than talking to me.

I passed Ye Olde Fighting Cocks, named by Guinness World Records as Britain's oldest pub.  The main building was formerly used as a pigeon house and is octagonal.  I pressed on to the cathedral, passing through the gate that used to be the entrance to the monastic complex but now belongs to the school.  The Cathedral and Abbey Church of St Albans was founded near the site of the martyrdom of St Alban, and his shrine has been a pilgrimage site since his beheading.  In addition, the monastery was home to one of the most well-known monks in English history, Matthew Paris, an author and illuminator.  And, much to my joy, one of the columns on the west end bears a painted inscription about John Mandeville. 

I arrived at the cathedral in time to join a free tour.  As we gathered at the west end and our guide began giving us information, there was a wedding going on in the Lady Chapel, and we could hear faintly the ceremony going on.  At one point the congregation sang "Jerusalem" and it was perfect.

Like all medieval cathedrals, St Albans has not remained static, in its original form.  The earliest architecture is Norman and makes use of rounded arches.  Some of these still bear their medieval decoration, and the faded red stripes on the rounded arches reminded me of the Mezquita in Cordoba, which was an unexpected comparison to be able to draw.  A number of columns are painted with saints who have been there since the 13th century.  The western end of the cathedral was built when the Gothic had become popular, and the two architectural styles meet without finesse.  Adding to the somewhat unsophisticated appearance is the fact that two of the Norman arches on the north side collapsed and were repaired with Gothic arches, meaning that the aisle is asymmetrical.  Still, despite the fact that it seems like three or more different buildings shoved together, the cathedral is beautiful.

The Alban shrine is at the back, between the altar and the Lady Chapel.  The pilgrims came up the south aisle, and in order to keep an eye on them monks were stationed in a wooden viewing stand.  It was not dissimilar, in purpose if not in appearance, to a deer stand.  At the end of the tour I asked the guide something about the tiling on the floor, and then she offered to show me some of the brasses still in the floor.  These were covered by mats so that they wouldn't be damaged by people's walking on them.  Like bells and other metal decorations, many medieval brasses did not survive because they could be melted down and used for other purposes.  The young man to the left was some noble lady's brother, though I can't remember who.

Then, on my way back to the train, I ate a pasty.

I really enjoyed St Albans and highly recommend it, at the very least as a day trip from London.