On a lark, I decided to take the train out to Salisbury Cathedral last Wednesday. The great thing about having a BritRail pass is that you can literally jump on any train, to any destination that you fancy. The cathedral here is known for its spire, and it really is spectacular. The area around Salisbury is relatively flat, so the spire is even more dramatic, rising some 404 feet above the plain. The cathedral is set within a lovely close, with green grass surrounding it and several lovely paths set off with not so lovely modern sculpture. In this way it differs from St. Paul's, or most of the other "urban" cathedrals which are set chock a block against the city. One gets a nice relief from the shops and streets around Salisbury. The exterior of the church is undergoing some restoration, so I had to contend with scaffolding, but much of it was visible. It's quite pleasing from the outside.
The inside, however, seems rather barren. I tend to like my cathedrals gothic, cluttered, dark, and bathed in the mystical light shed from oodles of stained glass. For some reason, Salisbury didn't have all of that. It seemed somehow stripped. It did suffer much during the Reformation and the Civil Wars. Indeed, most of the cathedrals show great damage from the conflicts of ages past. They also show great damage from ages present. The altar in the Trinity Chapel was vested with some horrific modern frontal, and the steps were carpeted in a maroonish purple. Hideous!
I arrived in time to hear the last part of Evensong sung in the choir. Such a lovely Anglican tradition, although these days it's much more likely to be attended by tourists who have no clue what the service means than by parishoners. There was also a mass in the Trinity chapel behind the High Altar that I stayed for. Very kind and sweet people, but none of them were under 80.
As the service got underway I could hear a terrible storm raging. It had started to rain as I approached the cathedral, but that was hardly anything new. Yet this was different. I kept reminding myself that I was deep inside a cathedral built hundreds of years ago, and built to LAST. The mere fact that I could still hear the wind and the rain, though, spoke to just how bad the weather was. I found out later, after returning to London, that it was a particularly bad storm, knocking out power to many across southern England. As I was heading to the mass, I noticed that there was a weather gauge that clocked the wind speed at the top of the tower. During the height of the storm, speeds were around 50 MPH, with gusts up around 70. Staying put was definitely wise.
I'm behind on my posts, but now that I'm at the National Library of Scotland, I have internet access and shall do my best to catch up!
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Salisbury Cathedral WAS my favorite cathedral, until I went to Durham last winter. Durham surpassed all expectations. York was also nice. I bumped off the main character in my novel in the first class cabin of a train from Salisbury to London Waterloo.
On your BritRail pass, had you had a little more time, you could have taken the Stonehenge Bus from Salisbury Station and gone out there too, its like a half hour ride... Stonehenge IS overrated. The stones are roped off, so you cant get too close to them... but its worth having a look about.
Talk about only seeing old Brits in the pews in the Cathedrals... at York Minster, I got there and went straight to noon mass... for the first fifteen minutes I couldn't see the priest, he was this tiny old man hiding behind this massive altar with a massive altar book. He spoke in a high-pitched whisper.
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