Chapter 11:

The train whistled as it approached the station. It was so the ‘movie -version’ of train travel, Elizabeth had to keep pinching herself to remember she was living her adventure instead of watching the heroine do it on the theatre screen. She pushed her water bottle back into the top of her handbag, and closed the journal which had been sitting, untouched, on the plastic table in front of her for the last few hours. She always had great intent to get reading or writing done on the train, and invariably, no matter the country or the landscape, she found herself ignoring all profitable pursuits, and instead being caught up in the magic of watching the scenery fly by. This train ride had provided particularly good scenery – the path from London Charring Cross to Portsmouth wound through a fascinating mixture of industrial wasteland, monotonous suburbs, and glimpses of fairy tale small towns. Almost everything she passed reminded Elizabeth of some passage from a book she had read. “I guess that’s what happens when you load your undergrad schedule with too many English Lit classes” she thought to herself.

When she got off the train, she felt an unusual sensation. She was disorientated, and for someone who could always find her way around, Elizabeth was perplexed. She had to get from the train station to the ferry harbor, and the map provided by the ferry had made it seem like they were pretty much right beside each other. Yet, her she stood, surrounded by odd, unmarked buildings on all sides, with people rushing to and from each of them. To settle herself and provide something to do so she didn’t look so much like the “lost tourist” type she despised, Elizabeth went to the small corner store that was directly in front of the train station. Inside, she got herself some wine gums, and the cheapest cup of tea she had found in England – only 20p! She wanted to get two, for such a cheap price, but it would be even more unseemly to look like a lost tourist with two hands full of tea.

She wandered out of the store, reluctant to face the confusion before her. She decided to take it slow – there was no specific time she had to get the ferry, why not enjoy that massive urban sprawl that was Portsmouth? Having thus decided a way to save face, she set off at a brisk walk, relieved that the goal was just to walk, not necessarily to find the ferry dock. This would preclude any chance of failure or having to stop to ask for help, neither of which appealed to Elizabeth.

Her first stop was a large anchor statue that was set off in a little park next to the motorway. The anchor had seen better days and the park itself was dismal. But there was one bench that looked relatively dry and bird-poop free, so Elizabeth set down to finish her tea and wine gums. It was enough time to gather her thoughts and pull herself down from the mental imaginary world she had built during the extended periods of staring out of the window during the train trip. After 15 minutes, she got up with a sense of purpose, and found her way to the ferry dock. She was just in time to see them throw the ropes off the edge and set off, which wasn’t too upsetting to her until she realized the next ferry wasn’t for another two hours. “Oh well” thought Elizabeth, already slipping into her ‘relax- you’re supposed to be on vacation’ mindset. “At least I’ll be able to get another cup of that cheap tea.” And so she did.

Later, as she sat next to the dirty grey glass of the ferry window, Elizabeth watched the ugly town of Portsmouth get smaller and smaller. She loved any kind of travel by water – the rocking motion was so soothing to her. Of course this ferry was the size of a good size airplane, so she didn’t feel too much of the movement. She had a strong sense of ‘journey’ – meaning that she was almost at her destination – having left Point A – Banbury Hill Farm almost 14 hours ago, and she was nearly to Point B – St. Cecilia’s Abbey. Travel was just too quick when you could hop on a plane and cross Europe in an hour. She liked the drawn-out journey of taking an entire day to get somewhere. And she was almost to somewhere.

After waiting patiently to be herded off the ferry like sheep, she split away from the pack. Most of the people were heading towards the car park to drive down the long pier from the ferry dock to the town of Ryde, the largest town on the Island. Elizabeth had done her research and knew about the pier, it was indeed the longest pier in the world, at almost 2 kilometers. She knew that there was a train to take you the distance, but it was walkable. She looked to the sky – the sun was just beginning to set. On the one hand, she didn’t want to turn up on the Abbey doorstep too late – but she also wanted to experience walking the longest pier in the world at sunset. An aesthetic experience won out over practical responsibility, and she threw her duffel over her shoulder and started off. No one else was walking, which made her a little nervous, but even though cars kept whipping around her, it was a clearly marked sidewalk. Soon after the stream of traffic stopped, and Elizabeth had the pier to herself. It was so incredibly quiet, she had trouble thinking. Background noise was such a part of her daily routine. Still, she focused on the wind and the seagulls, and kept her eyes glued to the sunset, trying to notice and relish each changing pattern. Seeing as there was no one for as far as she could see in either direction, Elizabeth felt free enough to sing, even if it was still quietly under her breath: “For the beauty of the earth, for the beauty of the skies, for the love which from our birth, over and around us lies, Lord of all to thee we raise, this our hymn of grateful praise.”

The Abbey was quiet, but Elizabeth suspected it was like that any time of the day. The outside lights were on, and along the path leading from the main road, she could clearly see a lovely assortment of flowering bushes and shrubs that seemed immaculately manicured. She was only 20 minutes off the target time when she had told the sister she would arrive. She stepped up to the enormous wooden door, and rang the bell.

She waited, a sense of nervousness and anticipation filling her throat. She waited, twisting the rings on her fingers anxiously. She waited, worrying that no one was home and she’d have to sleep on the pier. She waited, convincing herself it was silly to think no one was home – the sisters weren’t allowed to leave. After what seemed to be 10 minutes, and three bell rings later, Elizabeth heard a loud series of thuds as a number of locks were opened. Then there was a giant creak to match the giant size of the door. “Oh, hello dear, you must be Elizabeth?”

The miniature sister stood dwarfed in the huge doorway. Elizabeth smiled warmly. “Yes, I’m Elizabeth, hello! I hope this is a convient time?” “Oh, yes, of course, you’re right on schedule. I’m sorry it took me so long to answer – I was peeling potatoes.” “Of course.” The nun moved away from the door. “Do come in. I’ll just go get the keys to the guesthouse. We call it The Garth, you know?” Elizabeth nodded her head to the affirmative. The sister was already moving briskly away in the other direction. For a very small woman she moved surprisingly quickly. Elizabeth stood where she was, not wanting to disturb the hallowed silence that surrounded her. It was only the foyer to the offices, but it still had the unused holy feeling of the other ‘high’ churches Elizabeth had been in. She felt nearly ready to fall over. Because of her lack of sleep from the key fiasco the night before, she had planned to nap on the train, and then on the bus, and then on the train again, but her attention had been drawn away by other things each time. Now, she was working on too little sleep and too much tea and candy. Fortunately, the nun took less time to get the keys than she had to open the door. They were shortly on their way to the Garth, situated directly next to the Abbey’s main building. As they walked, the Sister explained all about the order (fully-cloistered, no outside contact. Well, except for herself, she was the ‘outside’ nun, from what Elizabeth understood). Elizabeth was also fully briefed on the expectations for the retreat house, which she learned to her surprise that she would have all to herself. The Sister seemed to sense Elizabeth’s growing fatigue, and was very to the point with her explanations of the workings of the kitchens, the water, and the lock. She left Elizabeth with an invitation to morning prayers at 5:30, or, if she couldn’t make that one, at 9:00am.

Elizabeth was truly grateful to lay down for sleep. It had been a long day, a long week, and actually a long few months. She hadn’t really had time off since she’d moved to England – and her Oxford studies had been all-consuming. She needed the rest. And so after only a few minutes of pondering, Elizabeth rolled over and went to sleep.

She missed the early morning prayers – she had expected that. She also missed the late morning prayers, which she had really wanted to go to. Alas. Fortunately, the Nuns daily prayers schedule was quite full, and Elizabeth had been told last night that she was welcome to attend any she desired. So, despite her best intentions not to, Elizabeth made a plan. She would shower, do some quiet reading and reflection, make a pot of tea and read a book over breakfast. Then she would be just in time to get dressed and walk over to the church for the noon prayers. Thus planned, Elizabeth executed her scheduled relaxation, while being partially aware of the necessity of trying to quit planning everything. But she felt even worse about beating herself up over planning things that she gave up with her introspection, and focused solely on her reading. The Garth had an incredible library – mostly books left over from previous retreatants. There was a great diversity of topics, clearly, those who had gone before her had come from all walks of life and all kinds of faith. Some of the books seemed a bit kooky and some heretical. She stuck with authors she knew, and pulled out a pile of 5 possibilities to sit on the coffee table. With a cup of tea in one hand, she reached for the first book, and got lost in her reading.

She would have missed the noon prayers as well, but the bell tolled loud and clear about 5 minutes before it started. Elizabeth sat down her mug and book, startled at how fast the time had gone. She had just enough time to run upstairs, throw on some proper clothes and shoes and hurry over to another large wooden door – this one leading to the Church.

The smell of musky incense pervaded the tall, clear hall. Elizabeth was not Catholic, but her appreciation of aesthetics made her admire the understanding of beauty within the church. The sense of quiet awe made Elizabeth feel humble and settled, and she quickly slid into a very uncomfortable wooden pew. She tried to sit quietly – but the wood seemed to be built at a 90 degree angle, and there seemed to be no one to sit comfortably. “So much for the aesthetic experience” she complained to herself “there’s no way to be caught up in the glory of God when your butt hurts.” There were padded kneelers, and Elizabeth assumed they would be used to relieve the pain of sitting. Before she had time to process much more of her surroundings, she was dumbstruck by the most beautiful thing she had ever heard. As a song that sounded pure and angelic mixes with the smell of incense to fill the air, Elizabeth felt her eyes fill with tears. Even her inner dialogue was silenced by the incredible sound of the nuns singing their acapella Gregorian chants. It was like a heavenly chorus that moved from a low deep rumble to soft, feather-like heights. Elizabeth had never heard anything like it. Gregorian chants had already struck her as slightly spooky – but it was an entirely different thing with women singing them. The service flew by, with Elizabeth following the ‘Outside Nun’ as she sat, stood, and kneeling. It was only the two of them, the rest of the nuns were cloistered away, just out of view. AT the end, the bell was rung repetitively as each nun came to the metal grate to bow to the altar and then quietly sweep out the door to ‘their’ world. Once they had all left, Elizabeth left to her side of the door, into the ‘real’ world.

The noon sun was a shocking change from the cool darkness that had invaded the church. Elizabeth was having trouble processing her first Abbey prayer service, and actually her first Catholic service ever. She headed back to the Garth to make lunch. Before she had come, she had been warned that she would need to make her own food. So she had come armed with a selection of prepackaged and powdered food and drink. This made for a less than appealing selection of dinner options. She heated water in the kettle, and settled on a package of chicken and vegetable soup and a Jasmine tea. She made the soup, and took it and her tea back to the living room. She sat at the small card table, and pulled the tag of her teabag up and down aimlessly, watching it swirl a pattern through the hot water. Elizabeth was a deep, internal thinker, and she relished the luxury of sitting and staring at something, usually her teabag, while she processed.

Elizabeth figured out that the thing that most confused her was the nuns devotion and willingness to give up all contact with the outside world. It shook her belief in everyone’s responsibility to contribute to society. It seemed like these women would have so much to offer the world, yet they had chosen to live such a simple and quiet life. In the end, all they would be able to say is that they worshipped and prayed. “Is that really legit?” Elizabeth wondered. Her contemplative side that loved beautiful things like the service and enjoyed quiet tasks with her hands loved the idea of ‘getting off the hook..’ “Goodness, you get your room and board provided, you get to read, you get to peel potatoes, and you get to make beautiful music. What’s not to love?!” Of course, Elizabeth didn’t think she could ever even half consider joining. The first, most obvious hurdle being the fact that she was not Catholic. The nuns probably didn’t look favorably on people converting so they would have an excuse to read all day. And Elizabeth did think that she would never be able to truly give up her family and friends. But deep down, she knew that no matter what these nuns thought, Elizabeth felt she had some things she had to give back to society, because she was one of the top tier who had been born with good families and given great educations. Now she had a brain full of knowledge ready to be plucked clean. The thesis she was writing would probably never change anyone’s life, and if she was honest with herself, she recognized that it would probably never be read by more than a handful of people. Still, it was her contribution to the world of academia, as well as her effort to preserve the past. “That is, if I can ever find out enough about Mae to find her descendents!” Elizabeth moaned. Then she caught herself. Rule #1 on vacation – no talking, thinking or planning about work. She decided it was time to stop staring at her now cool cup of tea, and do something. “I think a walk is in order!”

She had read in her travel guides that the Isle of Wight was a beautiful summer resort town for rich Londoners. However, during the rest of the year, it became a sleepy seaside town, with a small population of locals, and a lot of boarded up ‘summer’ shops. So she wasn’t surprised when she started out to explore the town of Ryde and found what appeared to be the set from a horror film. The streets were empty, with the occasional stream of sand blowing across. The main street had nary a soul about, and the side streets did indeed have store after store with faded signs and boarded up windows. If it hadn’t been such a bright spring afternoon, she probably would have worked herself into quite a fright – but daylight made it look depressing but harmless. She decided a walk by the sea might be more uplifting. She was right – the sea had the same calming and restorative properties it is valued for all over the world. The farther she walked, the calmer she felt and the quieter her inner dialogue became. After stopping for some real groceries, she made it back to the Garth – feeling entirely relaxed.

Her time at the Abbey seemed to have flown by. For a structured, multi-tasking woman, she couldn’t believe the amount of time she had spent doing nothing. She hadn’t even finished the 5 books she had picked out, she had read one and started another, that was all! She had walked a lot, and explored all of Ryde, including outlying suburbs in a few afternoons. She had slept a lot, her body must have needed to catch up because she got almost 11 hours sleep a night. And she had stared out the window into the garden a lot, often with her brain completely turned off. She had gone to as many as the prayers in the church as she could, and felt sad to have to say goodbye to the beautiful voices and spirits of the sisters. But it was time to leave, her travel plans were set in stone, and she actually felt revived. The thesis waiting for her in Oxford was still a rather large monster, but Elizabeth didn’t mind. Maybe she’d give it a name and feed it the rest of her powdered food supply – which she had intended to eat, but oddly enough never gotten around to.