There and Back Again
Most of my school friends had already headed back to their various homes and countries by the time I returned from Scotland. I stayed in Canterbury with friends from church, for my last week in England.
As people started arriving at Wychurst for my good-bye party, we had a few good fights and I took some pretty good knocks. I’m told that it’s because I’m getting better and therefore harder to hit, so the hits become harder. I still haven’t managed to beat Townie, I may have to come back after a lot more training. I was finally wearing all of my own kit (shoes being the exception). I’d dyed my linen undress light blue and embroidered the cuffs and the neckline which I was quite pleased with. I have so many plans for making new kit when I get home, we’ll see which ones actually happen.
We played a new game that I adapted from something we did at my youth group back home, called 'Assassins.' Basically, everyone picked a name from a hat (or helmet, whatever's handy), and that person is your target. Everyone tucks a piece of blue cloth into their belts, to kill your target, you must steal their piece without being caught, then you take the name of their target and wait to strike again. An evening of betrayal and scheming ensued. Just watching the paranoia in the group was half the fun. My target was Matt but he insisted on eating first before I could even try to kill him. Got him eventually and began scheming with Abbey but Townie managed to swipe mine when I was called up to the fire by Dan.
Because Cecilia and Richard were away in France, Dan acted on her behalf to retain me into House De Claire! Cecilia had made a gorgeous velum retainment document, beautifully illuminated which stated, in Latin, that I was now a member of their house, sworn to fealty and friendship, and then something about sending her a bunch of maple syrup from Vinland. As another surprise, Tim, on behalf of all of Ost Centingas, presented me with a seax of my own, with my Viking name “Sigvor Hin Fagra” (hin fagra means ’the fair,’ which is what ‘Jennifer’ means) burnt into the wooden handle. I was speechless but I tried to put into words a big enough 'thank you' for everything the group had meant for me this year.
It felt like I was cramming for an exam, the need to just remember what the evening felt like; the warmth of the fire and the fellowship around it. You look at things differently when it may be the last time you see them; a long-exposure mental image. I didn’t want to go to sleep, and didn’t, staying up to talk until after the sun had risen.
After a breakfast at the Punch I took photos for the Ost Centingas lot for them to use for their website. There wasn’t much more real fighting, but always fun to have men in armour running at you and yelling.
For the last few days, I tried to be out and about in Canterbury as much as possible. My bus pass had expired so that certainly encouraged my walking through the town that I had called home for the last year. I wandered around remembering the little details, the shopping trips and coffee dates that weren’t worth writing in any blogs, from the first time I walked down High Street to now, where I can give directions. The West Gate, The Unicorn, the charity shops, Primark, the Marlow Theatre (even if it’s ugly), were all settings of my life for the short time I'd been here. I did a photo session with Liam and Tanya in the Cathedral cloisters, quietly saying goodbye to the beautiful building as I did.
My last night in Canterbury, I went to the Thomas Tallis Ale House with Liam, Tim and Matt. It was a lovely, relaxed time and I really enjoyed it. It didn't feel final, even the good-byes, it still felt like I'd see everyone at the next training. Travelling home, I just had to focus on not missing my flight, which allowed for adequate distraction. I managed to stay awake the whole flight home, watched 7 movies- don't remember which ones.
Being back feels like I've stepped out of the wardrobe to Narnia, and no time has passed (also fewer British accents - and I hear the Canadian accent more, which is a bit surreal). I've had a whole life and friends and experiences that feel very separate from what is back to 'normal' life. The cost of travelling is you're always missing. People, places, events, you're missing them and you're missing from them. In England, I missed friends and family at home, back at home I miss the friends I made there, but you learn the value of something during its absence. I can’t begin to describe this year and everything it’s meant to me. So when I’m home and people inevitably ask me ‘how was it?’ I’ll come up with some favourable adjective, and then not know what to say. There needs to be a 'travellers support group' somewhere.
I really don't know how to sum up this experience. I've traveled to 12 countries. I've taken 21 887 photos. I've written 47 blog posts. I couldn't feel more thankful and blessed.
Cheers x
