I was in Europe last week–visiting Father Reginald Foster in Rome (miraculously, he’s improving, but he still needs prayers), and attending a conference on my colleague Vincent Rougeau’s book on Christians in the American Empire at Notre Dame’s facility in London on Trafalgar Square.
While it was uncharacteristically cold and wet in Rome, it was spring–glorious spring–in England. And on the weekend, I took a trip to see Winchester Cathedral, one of the oldest and largest cathedrals in Europe. You can see the earliest Saxon structure, and the medieval flying buttresses set off against the bright blue sky. Apparently, the whole thing almost collapsed in the early twentieth century, and was saved by a diver who worked underwater shoring up its foundations.
I did not know that Jane Austen is buried in the Cathedral. A fresh bouquet of yellow roses was adorning the plaque near her grave. I think she’d like the people-watching there.
Of course, I can’t resist. . . I vaguely remember learning to dance in elementary class to the song “Winchester Cathedral.” Thanks to Youtube, here is the Lawrence Welk version:
UPDATE: Mea culpa: What can I say? My father used to watch Lawrence Welk. But I have been duly enlightened and chastised by Jimmy Mac and David Nichol: Here’s the real thing, which Jimmy Mac kindly linked to in his comment: