Image by Jim Higham
Last summer, I brought my friends to visit Canterbury, one of my favourite town in England. Sadly at that time due to the recent lock down, the whole town was still shrouded in the gloom of the epidemic. Also it was a shame that they didn’t get to see the magnificent Christchurch gate ( image left ) due to its construction work. In the town centre, some shops were been emptied, some were permanently closed down. The few that still open were clearly struggling because of the lacking of tourists. It was really quiet but not the peaceful kind, there’s an unsettle feeling lingering in the air.
It was very sad for me because I often think about the time I spend there. In July 2003, I arrived the U.K. all by myself, attending a summer language course in Canterbury before join in the University. 18 yrs old me was full of energy, curious and optimised about the future. Ironically, it was when the Chaos of SARS ( the more deadly version of Coivd) had just went away back in China, who would have possibly thought that the world will change forever this time.
I remembered the streets were always full of life, shop buzzing with business, people sitting outside the cafes and restaurants. Me and my classmates would explore the town almost everyday, running on the cobble stone road and finding secret path to sneak into the cathedral. We spoke broken English but were having the time of our life, now all these feels like a million years ago. To me, there’s just something magical about this place, it had put a charm on my since day one.
It was the 2nd day of my arrival, I woke up early due to the jet lag, the morning sun just raised, the whole accommodation was quiet. Having nothing to do, I went to the communal kitchen searching for food. Then suddenly I heard a sound quite unusual, it took me a few sec to realized it was a church bell ringing from not afar. Although I’ve never heard a real church bell rang before, it still brought me a sense of odd familiarly and comfort.
I looked out of the window, it was a bright summer day. The people of the town not yet awake, no cars on the street, a postman walked around the corner and there was a cat crouching in the shade of an oak tree. Parts of an ancient city wall weaving inside out among the town houses, tree branch’s gently dancing in the wind with seagulls hovering overhead, crying loudly. The bell continued to ring. Not far behind the rows of old red brick rooftops and chimneys, I saw, suddenly an magnificent gothic cathedral rises from the ground, it’s many spikes shot into the heaven, reflecting the golden sunshine.
It was the first time I had seen such grand architecture, together with the bell and the town, everything felt just like came straight from a fairy tale story. Although I've seen sceneries like this from films and cartoons, but when it was right in front of my eyes, the surreal-ness still took my breath away.
I wondered for how many centuries, this view has remained unchanged. I thought about all the travellers from the past, who had come from far and wide to make the pilgrimage here. They might had also heard the same church bell rang, looked out of the window of their inn, and gasped by the same glorious view of the cathedral. But they were long gone, so how strange we could be connected like this, crossed time and space, sharing the same awestruck moment of tranquillity.
In couple of decades, I too will be gone. My thoughts, my deeds and everything that once made me, will cease to exist. Finally when those who once remembered me also gradually passes away, my existence will be completely erased from this world. People came and went, again and again. But the cathedral will still stand, like the anchor of time, a witness of changes. As a foreigner alone in a foreign land, I don’t know why can this moment feel so nostalgic.
Until today, I still don’t have an answer to this question. I only know it’s a moment in my life that I can never forget. I painted it down because it carries more than what any words can say.