by T L Harty
The next day, we scanned the room to finish any last-minute packing. Henry was waiting downstairs just inside the hotel. When he saw us, he jumped to his feet, took our bags and opened the door for us.
“Thank you, Henry,” I said.
“My pleasure,” he replied.
The plan for today hadn’t changed. We were going to see London all day. We drove around for hours, getting out where we wished. We saw London Bridge, almost completing that walk without singing the song. Trafalgar Square, Buckingham Palace, London Tower and the Museum of London were all visited or witnessed. Henry showed us a lot of places where things used to be. There were signposts and markers of where buildings used to stand or where something happened in history. Shopping malls or parking lots stood there now, which saddened me.
It was a very full day, but I was getting overwhelmed by all the information and sights. Grammy told Henry, “You can drop us off at the train station now.”
“I have instructions to drive you wherever you would like to go,” Henry said. “They told me what happened yesterday at the hotel and my services are a continued apology.”
“No, no, we are going all the way out to Wells,” Grammy argued.
“Then, we best get started,” Henry said.
It was hard to see the landscape when we arrived at Wells. The sun had gone down an hour earlier. We pulled up to a tall building, but it was difficult to see how tall it was because the lights shone down on the street.
“Just down this lane,” Henry said, pointing. He retrieved our bags. “Would you like me to escort you?” he asked.
Grammy chuckled, “If we aren’t safe here, I give up.” Grammy and I took the bags from Henry. She gave him an envelope to thank him for all he had done.
We walked to number 10, where Grammy opened the door without a key. The home was unlocked, but we could lock the door once inside. The key was left on the table. It was not nearly as fancy as our hotel in London, but Grammy was tickled. There was an upstairs with two bedrooms and the downstairs had a fire place, small living area and kitchen.
Neither one of us had much energy for anything, except getting ready for bed. We both climbed into our beds in quick succession and fell fast asleep before 8 p.m. It’s a good thing we got to bed so early because the morning sun brought music. Beautiful music wafted in through our open windows.
I climbed into bed with Grammy. “Why am I hearing music?” I sleepily asked her.
She yawned, answering, “That, my dear, is a summer school session at the Wells music school. Do you have any clue where we are?”
“I’m going to go out on a limb and say somewhere named Wells,” I giggled.
“Yes!” she yelped. She hugged me tightly and shared, “This is the smallest city in England, and the only reason it is even considered a city- is because a cathedral was built here. I imagine it was a strange sight in the middle of these fields. Many of our ancestors passed through here on their way to Ireland before this town was even here. Let’s get dressed. I can’t wait for you to see this place!”
Grammy’s excitement was contagious. We hurriedly dressed for the day. When the door was opened to the outside, my breath was taken away. It was just as if we had gone back in time. The lane we were on was entirely made of stone. Small lawns were outside of each small home and there was other greenery and flowers dotted about. A small path led from each dwelling to the short, cobbled road which was no longer a place for automobile or carriage traffic.
“This is Vicars’ Close,” Grammy whispered. “It’s the oldest residential street in all of Europe, not just England. You slept in a home last night that is over 450 years old.”
I let that sink in for a moment, because this whole scenario was mind-blowing. While looking around, the sight of the cathedral caught my eye, as the spires loomed large in the background.
“I can’t believe they rent out rooms here,” I mentioned. “This must have cost a fortune.”
A flash of guilt ran across Grammy’s face. I looked at her, waiting for an explanation for her facial expression. “Well, they don’t really rent these rooms out,” Grammy admitted. “Vicars’ Close is for the people who work at the cathedral and some of the choir and music students.”
“Hmm, then how did we get to stay here?” I wondered.
“Well, the mix-up at the hotel was an opportunity,” Grammy said, stopping to think more about how she wanted to word her response. “I’ve always wanted to stay here and…” Grammy stopped again, but it was becoming clear to me what happened.
“Did you use the hotel’s error to take advantage?” I accused.
“I’ve known for years that the hotel has authority to use a room or two here for religious dignitaries,” she admitted. “They wanted to know what they could do to appease my disappointment over yesterday’s confusion. I am a good customer.”
I took Grammy’s arm, as she started walking toward some amazing breakfast scents. “Oh, Grammy,” I said in a hushed tone. “What if a religious dignitary needs to stay here? Don’t you feel bad?”
“Not at all,” she answered, flatly. “There are hotels in town.”
We enjoyed a wonderful breakfast at a small café nearby, before making our way back to the cathedral for a tour. When we got close to the small gift shop inside the cathedral, Grammy got my attention and pointed upward. Up on the ceiling was a small carving that looked obscene. Squinting, it was just possible to make out the shape of a squatted woman with her legs spread wide. There is no way to know why Grammy would show me such a thing. It was a little gross, so I shot her a look of disgust.
As the day progressed, we saw the beautiful Bishop’s Palace in Wells. A short drive north took us to Bath, named after the Roman baths built there. The natural spring in the town was a source of worship by the early Britons. I learned that rivers and hills often defined territorial lines, which meant different settlements throughout the years had the same borders as thousands of years earlier.
We toured the Bath abbey. The town of Bath was considerably larger than the tiny Wells, but there was something about Wells that I found enchanting. You could walk through the gardens and grounds at Wells while not hearing any modern-day noise pollution. It gave one a better sense of living in a time period of long ago.
We arrived back in Wells later in the day. There were people gathered around the town square. As we got closer, we could hear one, loud voice. When the gentleman was done, the crowd dispersed and we could see who was doing all the speaking.
“That is the town crier,” Grammy said. I watched the gentleman in his long green coat and large hat. He carried a bell and a scroll of paper with him. He was returning from wherever he came from. “We got on the bus to Bath early this morning and missed the a.m. announcements,” Grammy informed.
“We missed the p.m. announcements, too,” I added, suddenly feeling uninformed. “What is a town crier for, exactly?”
“Well, it was a way to get information to the people,” Grammy explained. “The crier would first ring his bell to get everyone’s attention. It was usually a man with a very loud and articulate voice. He would then make announcements to the townspeople. Many people back then were illiterate and a crier would be their link to information.”
“Kind of like the 5 o’clock news,” I remarked.
“Exactly,” Grammy agreed. “It wasn’t always easy for the crier. If he announced a raise in taxes or a punishment for a crime, the people would often throw things or want to hurt him. Harming a crier was a treasonous act, but it happened.”
“Well, that brings a whole new understanding to that saying about not shooting the messenger,” I quipped.
Grammy and I enjoyed a delicious dinner before retiring to our quaint little home for the night. I had a newfound appreciation for the house in which we were staying. It was hard to believe how many hundreds of people must have slept under the same roof over the years.
Morning light came too soon and the sound of music was in the air once agai
n. Grammy had already gotten up and completed packing for our continuation. The itinerary said something about the Cotswolds and going into Wales. From there we would take a ferry over to Ireland. We were only staying in Ireland a couple of days, but this vacation was full of activity. It felt like we were just skimming the surface. Our entire ten days could have been spent in England and we still would have had more to see and do.
The Cotswolds did not disappoint. It had been designated as an “area of outstanding natural beauty” by the English government. It would be similar to a national park in the U.S. There were two things about the region that were notable: It became wealthy from the wool of its sheep, and there was a special stone in the region that had a golden hue. Most of the older buildings or stone borders were built from it.
The bus made several stops where we looked at all aspects of the area, even the castles that dotted the landscape. Their colorful gardens boasted the Duke of Burgundy butterfly. It was, to me, an unremarkable sight, and I had never heard of the butterfly before that day. Our guide squealed with delight as she watched them. And for that reason, the name of that butterfly will forever be lodged in my brain. Of all the things to remember!
When we got out of the Cotswolds, the tour continued north to Stratford-upon-Avon. It was the birthplace of William Shakespeare. Grammy and I didn’t have a lot of time to spend there because we still had to travel to Holyhead. We saw a few of the sights, grabbed our bags, and caught a bus to our next destination.
The bus ride to Holyhead took three and a half hours. It didn’t say anything about the timeframe on the itinerary, so I wasn’t mentally prepared for so much time riding in a bus today. It was making me a little fussy. We arrived at our hotel a little after 7 p.m. The first thing I noticed when getting off the bus was the smell of the sea air. It was one of my favorite smells.
We didn’t check in to the hotel or get dinner until we watched the setting sun. After getting off the bus, I would venture to say that most people were overcome by the sight before us. The water looked like it was slowly swallowing up the sun.
We had dinner and settled in for the night. We weren’t spending any amount of time in this town. In the morning, a ferry would carry us over the Irish Sea and into Dublin by noon. I was now carefully combing over the itinerary many times a day, excited for what came next.
It was the best night’s sleep of the entire trip. My dreams were filled only with sunsets and butterflies.
Chapter 5- History Lesson
Tracy returned to the sunroom with another cup of tea for each of us. While she was gone, I attempted to mentally prepare for the onslaught of information to come. It had always been difficult to retain facts or figures that held no interest. And since being an Oris was of no interest to me, my expectations for this conversation were low.
After Tracy had taken a seat, she wasted no time. “Let’s start at the very beginning,” she suggested. “We are from the Celtic tribe of people, often called Celts. And I should mention this up front- everything about the Celt world is disputed. There are many theories and hypotheses floating around, but scientists and scholars disagree on almost every point.”
“Then what do you hope to share with me that would be any different?” I asked.
Tracy smiled and said, “Everything. I’m going to tell you everything. And the information stored in the recesses of my mind is more than anyone could hope to know.” She was trying to suppress the giggling that bubbled up, but she couldn’t. We obviously hadn’t known each other for a long time, but Tracy’s enthusiasm made me believe her.
“Our people originated from modern day Austria,” Tracy announced, after she got her giggling under control. “The people to the south of us wrote that we were fair-haired, tall and muscular. These southern people would later be known as the Romans.”
“Why is it that we are depending on another tribe of people to describe us?” I asked.
“That is a great question,” Tracy commented. “I’ll answer it, but prefer you ask all other questions after I’m done.” I nodded my head in agreement.
“The Celtic people did not believe in the written word,” Tracy began to explain. “There were people within the civilization whose responsibility it was to keep history. They were either born into the position or had a gift to do it. The Celts believed that writing something down would weaken the memory…if words were on a page, there was no reason to truly know them.”
“I descend from a history-keeper and am one myself,” Tracy shared. “And I tend to get giddy because it is a rare treat for me to share our history.”
“So, you’re not an Oris?” I wondered.
Tracy shook her head. “You do like your questions,” she observed. “The labels that were put on us: Oris, seer, Druidess, healer, etc., were not labels we chose for ourselves. They are names that our first enemies, the Romans, decided upon. Because our lifestyle was different from others, our normal way of life was an oddity to them. Hence, we were often called barbaric by the Romans because we fought to defend our lands and families. The Roman Empire was responsible for some of the most heinous crimes committed against humanity. But, the pens of their scribes often recorded a different story on the landscape of history.”
Tracy paused for a second while the words she spoke penetrated every pore of my body. This wasn’t going to be awful at all. It would be just like Grammy’s lessons...leaving me with an expectation of more.
“I am getting ahead of myself, so let’s go back to the beginning,” Tracy said. “In Austria, our people discovered salt in the mountains. Because salt could preserve food, it was a hot commodity for trade, and brought a high price. We would trade with Greece and Italy regularly. The trading activity increased the wealth of our people.”
“Let me briefly differentiate between the words Gauls and Celts, as that can be confusing. They are different in name only. Our people supposedly used the word Celtae and Gaul derives from a Latin word. Around 400 B.C., many Celtic tribes expanded into other lands, wanting to control trade routes, have their own land or seek their fortunes. However, the tribes of people- still Celts, but called Gauls that stayed in the lower-European area, were eventually absorbed into the Roman Empire.”
“It didn’t take long for the Celts to inhabit numerous bordering lands. My ancestors moved west to Briton and Ireland, and it is their history that is within me,” Tracy shared. “It is even said that a group of Celts moved eastward into parts of modern day China. They were called the Arunchi people and had tartan material, which is a trademark of the Celts.”
Tracy’s eyes were wide with excitement, as if she was sharing this information for the first time. She continued, “We will use the word Celts because it is widely accepted as the correct terminology. It is a name that has evolved and survived endless pronunciation abuses.” Tracy adjusted herself to make sure she had my full attention. “When our people would introduce themselves, they would put their hand up to their neck and say the word Toec,” Tracy said, still staring intensely. “Say that, Muriel.”
“Toec,” I repeated slowly.
Tracy’s eyes got teary. “That’s what we are, Muriel,” Tracy shared. “Our people were originally called Toecs. “Because we would put our hand to our necks when introducing ourselves, the Romans thought we were calling our necklaces a torc. Supposedly, the word torc derives from a Latin word, but Romans had not even seen a necklace like the ones our ancestors wore until trading with our people. The Romans knew how important our torc was to us. They tried to trade for them to no avail. If they would win a battle, they would take it for a prize because death was about the only way to acquire someone’s neckpiece.” I put my hand up to my neck where my newly acquired torc lay.
“The Romans were not very responsible with cultures besides their own,” Tracy continued. “While it became important for them to build an empire, our people were building a civilization. There is a vast difference in the two.”
“I don’t understand,” I admitted, feel
ing foolish.
“Well, in the Celt society, everyone was deemed important and had a part to play,” Tracy explained. “Scientists believe that only people of noble birth or high standing wore torcs, but that isn’t true. A torc was given to a girl once she started menstruating, as a sign of her womanhood. Men received their torc at age sixteen. The neckpiece was merely a representation of becoming a contributing member of the civilization, which is why it meant so much. Most societies are so entrenched with a hierarchal model that it is hard for them to understand something functioning outside of their own ideas. The idea of noble birth was a foreign concept.”
“But, I know that there were kingdoms in the Celtic realms,” I pointed out.
“There were, but there was no separation of lifestyle between the chieftain and the members of his clan. He walked among them and lived a similar lifestyle,” she told me. “It wasn’t based on birth rites, but abilities. And a king’s reign could be as short as a month if he was challenged by another. If the chieftain was well-loved, the reign may last his entire lifetime.”
“And the women were only contributing members of society once they could bear children?” I challenged.
Tracy laughed at this question, which annoyed me.
“The Toec women were treated better than any other women of their day,” Tracy shared. “There were two ways to attain power in our ancestor’s culture- one was through warfare and the other was being a religious leader, also known as peace chiefs and seers. Our people were wise in acknowledging which sex was better suited for each job. That may sound sexist now, but they were not worried about such things then- only survival.”
“All able-bodied men were expected to become warriors,” Tracy explained. “These warriors hunted, farmed, waged battle, and trained. The women were advisors, maintained peace and became religious leaders. The men knew their ambitious pride would not serve their people in those roles. The women were equal in importance to the men. Perhaps, the fact that women could give birth and increase the numbers of the clan elevated them slightly above the men in their social standing. Powerful women always played a part in Celtic history, and our history is full of them.”