Telling stories

There are just a handful of friends who appreciate an afternoon in Gloucester and two of them were with us for a few days recently.  Actually, I’m being a little unfair.  The city has seen a few hard times and continues to suffer from comparison with and competition from neighbouring Cheltenham,  inevitably losing out every time.  But thinking we’d go to the cinema in Gloucester Quays on a rainy Monday, we chose to set off a little earlier than necessary and get a bit of fresh air too. Of course, the one thing Cheltenham doesn’t have is the Cathedral.

We enjoyed a walk through the docks and headed for the cathedral first. A great deal of work has been done during the last couple of years, making everything more accessible and attractive. No longer is the approach through a car park, but a wide, open space which allows a fine view of the newly restored stonework.

There’s a slightly different entrance for visitors too, in that rather than walk straight on in, we are funnelled to the left. This is partly to encourage the donation of an entry fee and allow a steward to offer a personal greeting, but it also means that a few features in a dark corner which previously went unnoticed have come out of hiding.

In addition to this rather finely featured gentleman whose name I didn’t note, was a memorial to Hubert Parry which I haven’t noticed before, either.

Andrewrabbott [CC BY-SA (https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/3.0)]

As we went into the cathedral, I was surprised at the number of people heading inside too. After all, it was Monday afternoon and I didn’t think there was anything going on inside.

Stranger still, once we were right in the nave, there was just one other person in evidence. Perhaps all these people knew something we didn’t know? (They did)

Well, our friends hadn’t been here before, so we took a good look around, noting all the special bits and pieces, admiring the fan vaulting in the cloisters and appreciating having these calm and rather special surroundings to ourselves.

Apologies for the poor photograph, but I’ve never noticed the little angel before

We stopped and paid homage to Edward II, reading the details of his life and the fact that he’s probably not buried here at all. And then we discovered where everyone else in the cathedral was!

In the Lady Chapel

The installation in the Lady Chapel had been designed to celebrate 20 years of Gloucestershire Action for Refugees and Asylum Seekers (GARAS) and a soundtrack played an audio narrative featuring stories of people from various countries who are now living in Gloucester and who have used the services that GARAS offers.

We learned that the “show” plays on a twenty minute cycle and we had come in just as it reached a conclusion. We made our way through the strings of coloured lights, noticing the joy on everyone’s face, not least our own.

We sat and watched a while, listening to the voices. Though the recommendation had been to view the installation quietly, to listen and ponder, it would have taken a tough steward to quell the enthusiasm of the smallest visitors and the gentleman who was on duty simply stood and watched everyone appreciate the experience “in their own way”.

The colours changed, the patterns too. Though I had read about GARAS as we came into the chapel, I found myself wondering how this related to their work and wanting to know more about the reasoning beyond “coming into the light” (and given that it wasn’t really possible to hear the soundscape in any detail).

Ultimately, did it matter? I had learned a little about GARAS from reading the information boards as we came in and I decided the best way to appreciate the whole project was to get in there and enjoy it! It’s hard to capture the experience in a still photograph though - there are more details here where there’s a better representation.

We couldn’t leave the cathedral without paying Robert Curthose a visit, could we? I’ve blogged about him before, his significance being that he’s the son of William the Conqueror and Queen Matilda who founded the parish church in Avening and commemorated in the Pig Face celebrations. Once again, we chatted about his crossed legs, sharing what we knew about that being a sign that he went on a crusade. But what of his crossed arm? I decided to find out more once we were home.

But you know I don’t do history. I believe whatever I am told because I simply don’t have the knowledge (and, I’ll admit, the interest) to question it. A little knowledge is a dangerous thing, I now find out though because it looks like we might be wrong about those crossed legs after all. Have a read and see what you think.

Shame really, because it’s a good story! Perhaps we should follow Mark Twain’s advice?

Except that...