It didn’t start off better. The Holiday Inn Express had a breakfast buffet. This means much in England, where breakfasts are hearty. However, we seemed to time our arrival to the table at the precise moment that the kitchen staff had an implosion. Not wanting to eat Frosted Flakes, I was left with basically a flavored yogurt and um, yeah, that’s it. For 30 minutes not one batch of scrambled eggs, not one muffin, nothing came out of the kitchen. I washed my hands of Bath and we headed for the car.
But Bath was not done with us. As we squeezed our way out of the town, some lady wasn’t paying attention and hit us. Not bad, just a loud smack side mirror to side mirror. "Tis but a scratch."
We broke free of the tide of traffic that was headed back to London and turned our car to the northeast. English mythology weekend would finish in grand fashion. I am almost a little hesitant to tell you where we are going. Some of you don’t know me that well, and some of you do. Hopefully you’ll love me anyway. We are going to Oxford. We are going via Wolvercote. Haven’t heard of it? Well, I don’t doubt it. The Wolvercote cemetery is where J.R.R. Tolkien is buried. Some people want Elvis, some want Hendrix, some want Cobain, I want Tolkien.
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| Amazing - I want this many flowers planted on my grave some day |
It felt strange. It was even worse that we couldn’t find the cemetery and I had to get out of the car and go into a pub and ask for directions. But when they heard my accent, they smiled and I said, “You know why I’m asking. I want to pay my respects to the professor.” They gave me perfect directions and we were there in five minutes.
We got out of the car and I was apprehensive. Not because I idolize the guy. I mean, I obviously appreciate his body of work. But this was something that took a legend and turned him into a person. I think it’s awfully personal and humanizing to go to a person’s grave. You’d better mean it. I am not sure I am making any sense.
We walked through a path and suddenly, there it was. And it was so small. I had a lump in my throat because it was so ordinary. In death we are all so ordinary. What is the difference then? The stories we leave behind for others?
I looked and there was the inscription that I hoped to see in person. Tolkien’s wife pre-deceased him and when he died, he was buried in the same plot. He always believed she was so beautiful and so kind to love him, that she had to be somehow more than human. He wrote a love story of a female Elf who fell in love with a male human and gave up her immortal life to be with him. Her name was Luthien and his was Beren. These are the names inscribed on the tombstone.
I was touched, but not emotional until my sweet son came up and slipped his hand into mine and said, “I don’t understand why people always talk like they are afraid of graveyards. I think this is the most peaceful place I’ve ever been in.”
I strangled out a “Yeah, Aidan, I think I agree with you.” Or some such thing, and began to walk. We spent another hour wandering around, noting dates and answering the nine hundred questions Aidan suddenly had about graveyards. Whos, whats, whens, wheres, whys and hows. It was sort of difficult, but calming. We decided it was time to drop our stuff off at the hotel and go explore Oxford.
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| Maybe someday he'll read other books in this same courtyard |
Oxford University was established in 1231. How crazy is that? We went with the idea that we’d find some of the places that they filmed the Harry Potter movies.
Instead we wandered through bookstores, and alleyways, and the Bodleian Library and then to see an exhibit on the development of Experimental Science.
Impressed, aren’t you, I can tell. I was too when in a darkened humidity and temperature controlled room, I laid eyes on John Aubry's copy of Newton’s Principa Mathematica from the year 1686. I got teary for the second time in one day, it was maybe the coolest thing I have ever laid my eyes on. I know, I know, how lucky am I?
OK so we then went shopping at a couple of Oxford University stores, had dinner in a cute little café that had the most awesome beer called Fursty Ferret. So good that I brought the empty bottle home with me!
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| Yummy yummy |
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