THE MORE THINGS CHANGE,
THE MORE THEY STAY THE SAME
A Widow Bit – May 9, 2010
By Mary Koch

            I’ve found a way to ward off intrusive bureaucrats: Tell them more than they want to know. I was going through customs at London’s Heathrow Airport, following the nine-hour nonstop flight from Seattle. The border agent examined my passport and launched into the usual questions. I answered that I was on my first trip to England, visiting a friend who is an American and has been living here for some 30 years.

            “Why haven’t you visited her before?” the agent asked sharply. Is that really any of your business? I wondered. I took a deep breath, smiled warmly and answered: “I couldn’t visit because my husband was severely disabled and required constant care. He has died, so now I am free to visit.”

            She snapped the passport shut, handed it over and said in a flat voice, “Enjoy your stay.”

            Indeed, why haven’t I been to England before now? It seems as if everyone I know has. Whenever I mentioned my planned three-week visit, friends would get a far-away, wistful look and list all the places I must see—as if they wanted to do it all over again vicariously through me.

            My trip to England is not intended for seeing the sights but gaining insights. Still, one cannot avoid being distracted by sights and sites. My friend Jan scooped me up at the airport and, turning our backs on London, we headed immediately for the pastoral beauty of the Cotswolds. I’ll not attempt to describe a wondrous landscape that has been amply lauded by some of the greatest writers in English literature.

            I’m staying on a farm west of the Cotswolds, near Wales.  The original farmhouse was built in the 12th century. The stables are “newer” – only a couple centuries old—and have been converted into townhouses, one of which is Jan’s.

            It doesn’t take long to go from one place to another in England, and in that short span of time, one can traverse centuries. At Tewkesbury Abby, on our way home that first evening, we stopped to hear evensong. The ethereal plainsong of the men and boys’ choir transported me back at least five centuries. Four nights later we returned for a concert by three combined area choruses. They filled the vast abby with a contemporary global sound of African folk music. It was a benefit for HIV/Aids victims in Africa.

            Leominster Priory, not far from where I’m staying, has been a site of Christian worship since the sixth century. I marveled at the massive building, only a third of the size it once was, thanks to Henry VIII’s anti-Catholic rampage. But its problems did not end with Henry. Catapulting me back to the present, a priory official described weekly vandalism to the sacred structure resulting from high drug use in the neighborhood.

            “Do you feel as if you’re in a foreign land?” Jan had asked at one point. No, I don’t. It’s a land of human endurance—a land inhabited by us all.