The resting place of kings and consorts

I can't believe I've been here a year and only yesterday made it down to Westminster Abbey. Newcomers to England be warned - it costs 10 quid (thats $25 in Australian money) to get in. But I swear it was worth every penny.

There's something quite spectacular about the notion that in this most modern of cities, which has rebuilt itself from the ground up at least 3 times, here by the banks of the Thames has stood a place of spiritual significance for more than a thousand years.

The first thing that struck me about the cathedral is that the inside looks much bigger on telly. It was only after I'd spent about 3 hours wandering around and looking at EVERYTHING that I came to the bit that explains that for coronations, royal weddings etc they put in scaffolds and temporary seating for about 3000 people. Must confess I got the giggles thinking of Her Maj ensconsed on a bit of plywood up in the royal box, however elaborately draped in red velvet it may be...

Giggles and televised misconceptions aside, Westminster is truly magnificent. There's been a church dedicated to St Peter here since at least 600AD. The building in its current form (a large part of the floor is still paved with tiles laid in 1268!)was begun by Edward the Confessor, later St Edward, and the bloke who ultimately was the cause of the Norman invasion of 1066, after most inconveniently dying without legitimate issue and allegedly promising the crown to William of Normandy, who took it by force from Harold Godwinson, aka King-Harold-who-was-shot-in-the-eye).

Having won near Hastings, William promptly had himself crowned in St Edward's still unfinished cathedral, starting a tradition that now spans nearly 1000 yeras.

There's still a shrine dedicated to St Edward at Westminster, which you can't actually SEE becase it's apparently very very fragile. It's also surrounded by massive marble tombs of other kings, consorts and other nobles, although if you peek very carefully past the sarcophagus of Philippa of Hainault (1314-69), and don't mind being told off by an attendant, you can see the candles burning and some kind of shrine that supposedly holds his remains. The rollcall of entombed sovereigns is really rather impressive. Edward I, Henry III and Henry V are here along with Henry VII and his wife Elizabeth of York. Curiously, the desecration of cathedrals during Henry VIII's Reformation extended even into this hallowed place, and many of these ancient monarchs have the heads and faces missing from the lower panels of their ornate carved wooden and stone tombs. Somehow Edward III escaped such wanton destruction, and of course later rulers tombs are intact. Elizabeth I is here, along with her older half sister Mary I, and Elizabeth's other nemesis Mary Queen of Scots, who was interred here long after her death by her son James VI &I. The list goes on: Charles I and II, William and Mary, Queen Anne, all housed in 'families'.

Perhaps the prettiest part of the abbey is Poet's corner, which holds the body of Chaucer and monuments to countless other English literary greats (buried elsewhere), including Shakespeare, Byron, and a legion of controversial sorts renowned for distinctly unChristian tastes in their time, including DH Lawrence (obviously somebody liked 'Lady Chatterley' then!), Lewis Carroll and Oscar Wilde.

The coronation seat, used since - although happily it's now minus the Stone of Scone on which Scotland's kings were crowned, which was nicked by Edward I (better known as Longshanks, and several less lovely names if you're Scottish) and only returned to Scotland in 1996.

I had to wonder how it must feel, in these modern times, to be a royal here on official business and know that you are descended from the bones interred around you. The ancient practice of knights and future sovereigns spending a night in the church in contemplation suddenly took on a whole new meaning. Do they wonder whether they are worthy, or fear being just the teensiest bit of an anticlimax after all this greatness that has gone before them?

I left late in the afternoon with my head spinning from tales of the abbey museum, having stood on the 14th Century floor of the Chapter House, where Parliament once sat, and touched England's oldest door (certified at more than 1000 years old!). But perhaps the highlight of my afternoon was the fact that I'd talked my way into that part of the building after closing time...
the 1000 year old door.