As I stepped down off of the bus I once again felt the rush of cold air against my skin. I reached down beside me to grab hold of my extra-long scarf and wrap it snugly around my neck and face. As I slowly jogged across the street my face remained downward, focused on the patches of icy ground that I tried to narrowly avoid as I dodged traffic from both directions. The wind was howling and continued to berate my bare face. My eyes began to water and my nose drip. I quickly wrenched one of my hands from deep inside its warm, woolly sanctuary and used it to wipe my face clean. The moisture from my breath was quickly freezing to the scarf just below my chin. I began to focus on other things, pleasant things, so the walk home would seem shorter and less cold. I scanned my memories time and time again but I could not find many pleasant thoughts. Many were of loneliness and heartache, despair and distress until something caught my eye, or rather my nose. Seemingly out of nowhere a smell flooded my head with memories. The smell was coming from the collar of my coat. It was the smell of someone I used to know. My mind raced with thoughts of drinking tea, of classical instruments, of laughter, of smiles. I could feel my eyes beginning to fill with tears again. I hurriedly sought for another memory, hoping to dam the breached floodgate. Magpies, Magpies, they liked Magpies. I tried to recall the last time I saw a Magpie. Just then, as quickly as the first memory appeared a second one overshadowed it and I could feel the gears in my head coming to life while my breathing slowed and my eyes clouded over. With a deep breath I was transported to England, Yorkshire to be exact. My mind began teeming with the events of an afternoon, events that culminated in one of my favourite afternoons. I looked down and below my brown, low cut hiking boots was the green, green grass of Yorkshire. I was standing in a ruined doorway made of stone looking across an even more ravaged cloister. I was in an abbey, Rievaulx Abbey to be precise. It was a hot afternoon and the tall, half-standing structures of the Abbey were casting oddly shaped shadows across the various gravel paths and green spaces. My hand rose to my head to grasp the familiar outline of my grey, felt fedora and push it further up my forehead. As I took a long drink from my water bottle I began to lean on the doorway as my eyes slowly searched for movement among the ruins of this once great site. I had just passed Amelia a few moments ago. We didn’t say anything as our paths crossed, we were both too focused on our note books. We made eye contact for a moment but then her face slid behind the bill of a baseball cap and she turned a corner. I found myself alone again, not because I wanted to be alone or wished to be, but because I often found myself in this situation. I slowly walked to one corner of the cloister where small, delicate columns still stood intact. For me, they brought back the elegance and beauty of this once great religious house. Just then, the skies opened up with a roar and a flash of silver caught my eye high in the air. The sound of a Merlin engine was not unknown to me, and neither were the markings. An old war-bird, a relic of a different of era, of a different kind of society hurtled through the sky making its presence known to all. It was a P-51D Mustang; an American fighter plane of World War II. It moved through the air with such grace and agility that I could hardly believe my eyes. It was the first time I had seen one fly before. I didn’t bother raising my camera lens; I knew I wouldn’t be quick enough to catch it. Then, it tilted slightly and flew off behind a tree line. Just as quickly as it had come it was gone again. The bright chrome that seemed to shine white hot in the sun was burned in my memory for the rest of that day. As I looked back down towards the columns our Coach driver Ray walked in front of me. He was wearing a short-sleeved white collared shirt. It wasn’t his usual uniform but he improvised due to the unusually warm weather. He usually wore a tie with his uniform, but not today, I liked him better without a tie anyway, I didn’t want him to have to dress up to haul us around in a coach. “Did you see that?” He asked. “Of course I did”, I replied. “How can anyone miss a Mustang!?” We talked for a few moments about how beautiful it was and how sad it is that the old war-birds won’t fly the skies for much longer. We ended our conversation by speaking of some of our favourite planes and then the weather. As he walked away I heard him say, “See ya at the centre”. He meant the visitors centre, where I found him later with a cold drink lounging in the shade next to Ryan who had a beer in his hand. As I rounded another corner of half crumbled columns I saw something that I’d never forget. I was standing in the long gone section of the Nave looking directly down the Choir and the Presbytery to the High Altar. It was tall, enormously tall. I was so floored by what I had seen that I removed my hat and sat on the ground for a moment to take it all in before moving towards it. I felt the soft, green grass beneath my fingers and I brushed it with my hands as I sat in silence for a few minutes staring at this architectural masterpiece with its beautifully carved columns and vaulted ceiling. I could see Doc, Dave and Trevor near the High Altar but they were finished looking around and they stepped off to the side and vanished among the massive columns and ruins of the abbey. I stood up and made my way towards the High Altar. Holding my hat against my chest I could easily feel the quickening pace of my heart as I marvelled at this structure. After many minutes of silence I finally pulled my camera up to my eye and began to take pictures. A small stone caught my eye about twenty feet from where I was standing. It was actually an intricate design made of many stones that were cut with care to make a beautiful floral design, or at least what I believed to be a floral design. I took time lingering here; it was one of the most breathtaking places I had ever seen. As I reluctantly walked back toward the visitor centre I kept stopping to turn around and let my eyes fall once more upon the beauty that is Rievaulx Abbey. As I got closer to the visitors centre I stopped and looked to my left. In the Farmers field were easily one hundred, white, woolly sheep. Some were sitting on the ground looking quite content while others were up, moving around and bleating as if to just make their presence known. As I leaned on the rough stone wall a Magpie swooped down and landed in a tree beside me. I reached down to retrieve my camera. The metal buttons clinked as I slid my hand out of my satchel and moved a little closer to take the picture. That was it, the last picture of the day, Mr. Magpie in his tree next to the picturesque farmer’s field and the ruins of one of the most beautiful buildings behind me. I fiddled with the camera as I placed it back in its case and then in the satchel. I saw Kelsey and Darcy already inside the Centre moseying around. I walked up to the door, lightly gripped the handle and pulled… Finally, I was home. It was -28 with the wind chill. I tried to untie my boots with my partially frozen fingers but I wasn’t making any progress. I sat down on the small brown bench next to the door and I just pulled on my boots as hard as I could until they popped off. I just wanted to sit down in front of the fire with a drink. I leapt down a flight of stairs and snatched the remote for the fireplace from the table. I turned it on and just sat in front of it warming myself and mulling over all of the memories I have stored in my head. Old ones, new ones, sad ones, and ones that I don’t want to talk about. But my memories of Rievaulx Abbey are definitely worth talking about.
Posted on: Thu, 15 Jan 2015 05:11:08 +0000
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