Quiet Salisbury and the mystical Stonehenge

My husband Alex and I were in Southwest England, in the county of Wiltshire, after an hour and a half’s train ride from London’s Victoria Station. We landed in Clovelly House, run by couple Hadyn and Rowena Ingram, just a stone’s throw away from the Salisbury train station. The edifice was well set back against the lush shrubs, vegetation and trees that you won’t hear the rushing and train whistles inside their hotel.

The early spring weather was sunny and cool, we couldn’t resist the lure of simply leaving our things in the room so we could go out and explore the town. Walking through High Street we were enticed by the sidewalk café by the River Avon, under large leafy trees, where we ordered tuna sandwiches and coffee. Sitting quietly, we noted some movement on the river a short distance away. I stood up and let out a little shriek. It was a large group of graceful swans! They were swimming towards us, some white, some light brown and gray. With much poise, a few cygnets swam beside their parents. No ugly ducklings these, certainly! Going around the city we espied the old St. Thomas Church, a beautiful regal church with tall clear glass doors. It had a well-tended garden, on whose grounds we found tombstones dating back to the 1800s. The mood here was tranquil, undisturbed. Our trusty guide book advised a must-see in Salisbury: the Cathedral. As the streets fell away, we gasped as a stunning medieval-looking cathedral rose before us, its spires so high they were almost touching the blue Wiltshire sky. The façade was intricately decorated and we had to crane our necks to look up at the 400-foot spire of the Anglican cathedral. We inspected the 13th century carvings, most of them saints in their own niches, on its walls. The Universe must have heard our prayers, as we read in one of the bulletin boards that there was a Catholic Church nearby. It was the First Friday of the month, and having a devotion to the Sacred Heart since my elementary days, Alex and I certainly had exotic locations for First Friday Masses abroad. We hied off to find St. Osmund’s Church, about three streets away, and arrived just in time for the Mass to start. I saw several Asian Indians and some Filipinos with small children. The officiating priest was a tall and well-built African with a booming baritone, and we felt blessed to have discovered this church tucked away in a serene corner of Salisbury. The next day saw us going on foot to the train station to await the red, colorful double-decked bus of Wilts and Dorset. Our guide Rosemarie arrived promptly at 8:30 AM, and as the bus slowly maneuvered its way around the narrow city streets, she gave our group of 12 visitors a quick history of the place we would visit that day. Oh, yes, indeed! We were going to visit Stonehenge! The very name quickened the pulses, and conjured up so many childhood readings about this mysterious place —countless stories that were all possible, some improbable. The collection of huge stones standing around in a circle in flat, wind-swept plains were found to predate history. Because of their sheer weight, the almost 22 ft. tall stones, each weighing an average of 45 tons, were said to be brought by aliens to earth. Even the Druids, Celts, and even Merlin the Magician of King Arthur’s realm have been implicated in its origins. The stones are said to be astronomical observatories. Tomes have been written of how the lines could be drawn from one of the northeastern gaps between the stones during the summer solstice (usually around June 21st every year) and how the sun could be seen at sunrise through these lines. During the winter solstice, too, the sun could be viewed at a specific angle. Some said the stones were a huge sun dial, a calendar. What I didn’t expect though was the strong effect that these erect stones could do to the imagination. We were lucky there were only a few of us that morning, and it was as if we had Stonehenge to ourselves. Although we could not touch the stones, we could still see each massive piece clearly from across the barrier rope. I walked away from the group, slowly walking around the stones, looking at each configuration: the vertical ones, and the large lintels placed horizontally on top of some, resembled altar tables. There seemed to be a strange, crackling energy in the air, especially when the wind blew strongly, some faint murmurings in the atmosphere that one couldn’t quite catch. Alex, ever the unbeliever, laughed aloud when I mentioned this to him, as he put his arm around me. Rosemarie brought a strange looking, L-shaped metal piece and told us it was a dousing rod. This could be used to search for water, she said, in arid land. She held the metal rod in front of her and true enough the end of the rod, unaided, began to veer towards the left. This proved, she said, that there was a magnetic force in the area. Call it science, magic, or witchcraft, one couldn’t deny it. Under the full morning sun and the blue sky dotted by a few lazy white clouds, thoughts of supernatural things seemed to float away amidst the beautiful day. That very afternoon we used our Stonehenge tickets to board a bus to Old Sarum, another Bronze Age monument of stones built by the Celts for worship. It was older than Stonehenge, and throughout history, Old Sarum had changed hands until it was totally destroyed. Today what was left were the stone patterns seen on the wide plain land —broken parts of castles and churches. But it had its own wild allure, with the wind whistling in our ear; at one high vantage point we could see almost all of Salisbury, identifiable because of the tall spires of its Cathedral. The next day was a first Saturday, which meant Market Day at the town center. We were up early and were browsing through the market by 8 AM. The atmosphere was festive and there were endless stalls selling fresh produce as well as plants, dresses, all kinds of bread, cheeses, homemade food, and handmade crafts. And fresh raspberries! Intrigued by the small red fruit that were tart but sweet, we bought four containers of raspberries for only ₤1 (less than 100 pesos), and spent the afternoon and evening munching them. We had a relaxing time walking around the shops during our last day, and even had the chance to get boxes of pink nougat bars that a Yorkshire friend asked us to get him —sweets that he couldn’t find anymore, he said, even in Marks & Spencer shops. It seemed that when he was still a child his mum would bring these pink nougat bars home after work and he has since associated the candy with his mother. Alex and I found the nougat bars in a Mills St. corner News Agent shop, a place where they sell newspapers, lottery tickets and cigarettes. We surmised that the mother must have passed by a news agent’s after work, a very practical thing to do, to get some papers and a sweet for her little boy. That “little boy" is now 62 years old, and married to a pediatrician friend! Nostalgia, mystery, tranquility, serendipity — we certainly enjoyed them all in Salisbury and Stonehenge. – YA, GMA News