Meeting of Worlds

Sherwood Pines

The show at Sherwood marks the anniversary of when Katya and I moved here last year. It has always been and continues to be one of my favourite weekends. The encampment, surrounded by tall trees and lit by glowing fires, has a sense of verisimilitude, like you’ve stepped out of a forest, into a clearing and have just happened across a Viking camp.

As usual, the days consist of training in the morning, the battle in the afternoon, and then wandering around looking at all the creative wics during the afternoon. This year, as a special treat, after hours, some people were allowed to ride the horses. I used to go riding when we visited cousins in both the Yukon and BC, and so I looked mildly competent next to the other riders for whom this was the first time they were sitting on a horse. I’ve always enjoyed riding, but it definitely goes up a level when you’re in a long flowing dress and have a sword in your hand. I really need to make it out to one of the riding weekends. 

On Saturday night, we continued the tradition of seeing how many people we could cram into the mushroom on the children’s playground, this year we succeeded a record-breaking 9 people! I Next year we’re going to have to recruit smaller members if we’re going to beat that. For the rest of the evening, we went on a ‘wic pub-crawl.’ People tend to huddle around their own group’s fire, so to break that mould, we went around to each fire to share a drink and some time with everyone. We even shared some of our Canadian Maple Syrup Whiskey. We didn’t quite make it all the way around since the singing began at the Alba and LSF fire and continued into the night and early morning. 

On Sunday, my parents were coming to see the show. I was trying to keep a look out to I could intercept before they met my friends. I failed, and Konrad greeted them with the most ridiculous story and handshake, which he was very pleased with himself about. It was a very weird collision of worlds. I had always figured re-enactment would have been the perfect hobby for my family. The boys could hit each other with swords, Rachael and mom would be able to ride horses, and dad could carve spoons and sleep. Dad promtly took a nap in my tent, despite it being ‘a mess’. Mom was very taken with the horses after their military demonstration and we probably could have just left her with them for most of the day.

The battlefield this year looked amazing. A few of the non-combatants were set on the field as the slaughtered Saxons from a previous Viking attack. It added a solemnity to the coming conflict. I did the champions fight against Greg in the afternoon. We had pre-arranged a few stage-combat tricks to use at the end but it turns out the way to make it realistic is to actually have your opponent throw his face into your knee. 

Oxford 

Now since I was still technically a student at this point, I did spend a large amount of time in Oxford sitting in the Eagle and Child pub, trying to study for the exam that was imminent upon my return to Canterbury. I figured the place where Tolkien hung out was as good a place as any to study about early medieval kings. I had gone on a quick walking tour with mom and dad, but that had been rather disappointing. I suggested they take the Footprints free walking tour, that I had been on previously, while I was temporarily a good student. The first tour also had also driven me a bit mental because one of the listeners, every time he learnt something new, would gasp and ‘tsk’ about five times.

Afterwards, Dad was sitting in a pub in Oxford, the Turf Tavern, and made the comment that England would drive Opa mad. Opa was an architect, and considering that there is not a plumb straight line to be found in most of the villages we had visited, it would melt his brain. 

If I lived in Oxford, I would be very tired of Harry Potter. I love the series, I love the movies, but every single place we’ve been to on this trip, all you hear about is what bits of Harry Potter were filmed where. Tour guides ignore all the history that actually happened there and focus on the few seconds their abbey or college was in the movies. I understand that is what gets people’s attention but it’s starting to become a bug bear of mine. 

Hever, Penshurst, Chartwell

We were gradually making our way back to Canterbury, but stopping off at most of the castles that were en route.

Hever Castle is one of my favourite spots, and this time the gardens were in full bloom. It’s certainly not as grand as other castles, but it’s personal connection to Anne Boleyn makes it special. It is rather ironic that the castle is such a popular wedding venue given the history. I’m sure that’s the staple joke at the receptions. In the gift shop there were prints of the love letters that had passed between them, (I’d hope that no one’s romantic texts will become future souvenirs), but even if she was only responding favourably because of royal pressure and obligation, it does read like they actually loved each other for a time. The house itself, then, ironically was given to a Catholic family (ironic given that Anne’s marriage had started England on the path to Protestantism), who then had to remain under the radar once Elizabeth came to the throne after Mary. The portrait gallery on the top floor gave a very good summary of Tudor history, it was like watching the HBO show in one go, with a lot more accuracy.

We didn’t get to Penshurst in time to go through the house, so we just did a quick lap around the gardens. Mom kept trying to find the exit and see if we could just stick our heads in but she was thwarted since she couldn’t figure which of the many doors was meant to be the exit.

Our last full day was spent at Chartwell house, the family home of Winston Churchill. Again, the gardens were lovely, and dad kept using his phone app to identify flowers and see if any of them might suit our house back home. The one thing I loved most about Churchill’s place was his paintings. It wasn’t that they themselves were inherent works of art, (although if WWII was just an art competition between him and Hitler I think he could have won) but just the obvious love he had for art. One of the quotes in his painting studio was that, ‘when I get to heaven, I mean to spend a considerable portion of my first million years painting, and so get to the bottom of the subject.’ I left Chartwell wanting to pick up a paintbrush.

On our return to Canterbury we had a few more hours before we had to return the car rental. We drove out to Wychurst so I could show them where I spend a large part of my life.

It was amazing having my parents come visit and spend time travelling to all these beautiful places. It was two weeks of adorable towns, homey pubs, and my beloved family who I have missed the year I’ve spent here.

And since you’re both normally the first people to read this, love you x