London to Canterbury, a Modern Chaucer's Tales

Here begins the Book of the Tales of Canterbury

When April with his showers sweet with fruit
The drought of March has pierced unto the root
And bathed each vein with liquor that has power
To generate therein and sire the flower;
When Zephyr also has, with his sweet breath,
Quickened again, in every holt and heath,
The tender shoots and buds, and the young sun
Into the Ram one half his course has run,
And many little birds make melody
That sleep through all the night with open eye
(So Nature pricks them on to ramp and rage)-
Then do folk long to go on pilgrimage,
And palmers to go seeking out strange strands,
To distant shrines well known in sundry lands.
And specially from every shire's end
Of England they to Canterbury wend,
The holy blessed martyr there to seek
Who helped them when they lay so ill and weal
Befell that, in that season, on a day
In Southwark, at the Tabard, as I lay
Ready to start upon my pilgrimage
To Canterbury, full of devout homage,
There came at nightfall to that hostelry
Some nine and twenty in a company
Of sundry persons who had chanced to fall
In fellowship, and pilgrims were they all
That toward Canterbury town would ride.

So begins the prologue to Chaucer’s Canterbury Tales, a classic that I studied in Lamar High School in Houston, Texas, never dreaming that I’d be making the same Pilgrimage one day.

Well today we start from the steps of St Martin-in-the-Fields church overlooking Trafalgar Square in the heart of London, 80 of us. Last night I separated my newly purchased Canterbury Tales into 15 sections and put each into a numbered plastic sleeve. Last year when I did just two of the four days, I vowed to do all four this year.

I also vowed to get a copy of Chaucer’s Tales to read bit by bit with the others along the way. My plan is to dole out sections to each group, swap them around, read them aloud as that’s how it was done in Chaucer’s day.

Well, we’re off in a few minutes. I’m looking forward to this time of walking, having fun with the other Pilgrims, times of silence in the countryside after we get out of London, time to celebrate one year and time to listen to Chaucer’s Tales.

I’ll be Twittering along the way to keep friends informed. We are raising money for The Connection, St Martin’s social service for the homeless. Many of them are ex-service people (armed forces and police), people who find themselves alone for some reason. People such as an ex-police sergeant who slept under Waterloo Bridge for 20 years, finally came to St Martin’s and became an artist after classes there. She now lives in a flat, travels the world with her art exhibitions. I believe in the God of Surprises when I hear stories like that.

Sponsor me at www.justgiving/phyllissantamaria

Happy Walking!

Mama's Birthday

 

I got through a stuck place this morning in my writing of the introduction to my book, S-T-U-C-K. I was inspired to go to the line with it this morning, had wrestled with so many drafts, crossings out, deletings.

I think it's because it's my mother's birthday today. She would have been 98 today, dear 'Able' Aline, our nickname for her. She had 10 children, plus my father, probably the 11th at times. She had talent as a writer, wrote with multiple carbon copies her 'Dear Children' letters to keep the ten of us children in touch before photocopies, before the internet.

She and my father would have been proud of the event in April where we were honoured by our high school Alumni Association as the family with the most graduates, 9 plus our dear sister Mary, who perhaps today would have gone to Lamar High School in Houston, Texas as a person with special needs.

Here's a photo of the ten of us with the plaque for the classroom named in honour of our parents, Aline and Foley Santamaria, by their nine children who graduated from Lamar High School.

Happy Birthday, Mama! You made such a difference in the world, and we are a tribute to you and to Daddy.