Making memories of a lifetime

Whew! What a week! My cousin Little Margaret and our Guilford College friend Susan arrived last Tuesday and we've been on a blazing streak of fun ever since. Let's see how many superlatives I can haul out to describe it all...

On Wednesday we headed to Glastonbury Abbey, down the road just a few miles. The magnificent ruins there are associated with the establishment of Christianity in the British Isles, as well as Arthurian legend. In fact, it's said that King Arthur and Queen Guinevere are buried there. Since there's nobody around now who can dispute it, many people like me still choose to believe it. The enormous Benedictine abbey fell to ruins after the bishop's execution and the dissolution of the kingdom's monasteries in the 1530s, thanks to King Henry VIII 's break with Rome and Catholicism.

Anyway, as serendipity would have it, we had the abundant good fortune to run into one of the Abbey's history interpreters. This congenial volunteer was in full costume depicting "Sir Richard Pollard," Henry VIII's debt-collector, who was all too happy to give us a personal tour, fill us in on Glastonbury's history, and help us sort out for ourselves the facts from the myths. Joseph of Aramathia, the Virgin Mary's brother, allegedly brought his nephew Jesus there as a lad. Fact or fiction? It makes for a great story.  "Sir Richard" was a gem, and enhanced our visit to this holy place immeasurably. It was a terrific kick-off to the week.

For supper that evening we went to the local pub, the Puriton Inn, and happened upon biweekly Quiz Night. These trivia contests, played in teams, are very popular over here. For the sake of British-American relations we felt it only fitting that we participate. Our team, Guilford Girls, were in first place after the first three rounds! We were feeling pretty smug indeed.

And then we hit the rounds on U.K. sports, shipping lanes, rail routes out of London and other obscure stuff that would stump even the cleverest native Brit. Down the Guilford Girls went in flames. Our only saving grace was on "What is the title of the American national anthem?" When the answer was read and we lit into a spirited vocal rendition of "Oh, say, can you see...," we were cheered roundly. Unfortunately, our patriotic fervor did not match our final score: Even bartering some answers from the table next to us, our team came in dead last. We stayed late, made some new friends, and had a buzz from laughing so hard for three hours. Quiz Night was the most fun we had ever had for a mere one pound!

Thursday was our Wells day -- Wells Cathedral for an organ recital and a stroll through the Bishop's Palace and gardens with its moat and famous swans under gorgeous blue skies. Delightful!

On Friday we struck out to northern Wales, home of the famous Llangollen International Eisteddfod (music festival). I had attended this extraordinary event last year and enjoyed it so much I wanted to go back and share it with friends. We checked into our charming B&B, Ye Olde Boot Inn, in Shropshire and soon off we took to the sheep meadow in the picturesque valley beside the River Dee that has been the home of the Eisteddfod since 1947.

The highlight of Friday night's concert were the Welsh choir Only Kids Aloud accompanied by the British Sinfonia Orchestra. Ahhhh! We were in tears from their first note. These children, who range in age from 9 to 14, were simply angelic. There were also two South African vocal ensembles that help reinforce the international nature of this well-established festival, whose motto is Blessed is a world that sings; gentle are its songs.

Punctuating this beautiful message was Terry Waite, the British cleric who was imprisoned for several years by the rulers of South African apartheid. Like his friend Nelson Mandela, Waite -- who grew up in the Quaker faith -- became a symbol of the oppression in that country and has written eloquently about the struggles to create a democracy there. He is now the chairman of the Llangollen Eisteddfod. In his brief remarks he reminded us of how vital it is that people of the world respect and embrace one another's differences to try to maintain peace. His point was that music and experiences like the festival are a wonderful step toward achieving that goal. Amen to that!

Incidentally, we Guilford Girls had the privilege of chatting with him on Saturday. We made our common Quaker connection known (he was familiar with Guilford, of course!), and were able to commend him for helping maintain the eisteddfod as a powerful symbol in promoting positive relations internationally.

Saturday we heard choirs from England, Wales, the Czech Republic, Iceland, the Philippines, Costa Rica and elsewhere compete for the Choir of the World trophy. Ironically, the choir we heard first, a mixed ensemble from Argentina, ended up winning the big prize that night. They were top-notch and deserved to win, in our opinion. We also saw folk dancers from Northern Ireland, Scotland, India and Kurdistan compete for the Heritage Dance award. The pugilistic Kurds, sadly, gave me a headache; the joyful Irish won hands down and I was happy with that.

Sunday we checked out of Ye Olde Boot and headed even deeper into Wales. To my mind, it's a largely undiscovered tourist gem -- by American tourists, at least. Our goal for lunch was a castle in the purpose-built village of Portmeirion on the western coast. This fanciful tourist destination was the brainchild of an industrialist who created his own little Italian seaside resort there on the edge of nowhere -- with a Welsh postcode.

After adding a few strategic pieces to my collection from the Portmeirion pottery outlet shop, we began the long, long, long drive home. The design of this day may not go down as my finest hour as a travel planner. In fact, as the hours and miles dragged on and on and on, more than once I questioned my right to plan a trip ever again! What was I thinking??! OK, the scenery was second to none -- the heart of unspoiled, undeveloped northern Wales populated mostly by sheep; the breathtaking Snowdonia Mountains; the road hugging the northern coastline. Truly awesome and awe-inspiring.

But after being in the car for what seemed like half of our natural lives, we were all bone-weary and evermore ready to get back "home."  Yesterday the British highway signage left a great deal to be desired, and while we knew where we were supposed to be headed, we couldn't seem to get there. It didn't help that my map was out of date! No, I don't use sat-nav (see previous blog postings), and I wouldn't have believed anything that accursed gadget told us, anyway. It also didn't help that many people over here (a) don't know how to give directions, and (b) can't even show you on a map where they are!

Let's just say that if I ever tell you I'm going anywhere near the cities of Chester and Birmingham in an automobile, just shoot me.

Eventually, of course, after losing our will to live and getting so punchy we were giggling like deranged hyenas, we finally rolled bacl into Puriton. This little house never looked so welcome!

Today, tired but content, has been a domestic day. We wouldn't have climbed back into that car if our lives depended on it. If memories could be framed, we'd have a gallery-ful.