When my latest adventure began last Friday, I was pretty open-minded. Down south, around Hampshire and Wiltshire were not areas I have been before, therefore no preconceived notions, no expectations. I therefore had no idea that it possessed the ‘church largesse’ you could say to match that of it’s northern cousins.

Now I know that the age of thirty-three is nothing to turn one’s nose up at, but as you get older, it does seemingly become more difficult to feel genuine surprise and wander at anything in our constructed world.

In an age when buildings are churned out like factory food on a conveyor belt, it then should be no surprise that it is the past we turn to for moments of sheer awe and amazement when it comes to our public spaces.

I visited Salisbury yesterday, a short twenty-minute train trip from Romsey (where I am staying with friends for a few days). A gorgeous city that finds itself at the confluence of five rivers, Salisbury is home to arguably one of the most breathtaking public spaces in all of England.

Walls mark the separation of the city and the Cathedral grounds, large expansive grass areas sprawl out from the cathedral’s largesse, as a carpet of the finest green lays the way for many a picnic. Along the wall parallel to the Cathedral’s entrance were park benches shrouded in the caressing arms of budding spring blossom trees on either side. Quite the spot for a lovely late breakfast of a protein bar and mixed cut fruit. As the sun slowly rose, bathing the eastern side of the monument in light, long cast shadows adorned the western side, edging the the perimeter walls. The physical presence of this building was both imposing and breathtaking all at once.

 

 

Gothic sandstone colonnades square off an internal grass area, sunlight bathing the quatrefoils diffusing the light into clover-esque forms on the flagstone pavers beneath my feet. The entrance into the cathedral itself was rather unassuming, and rather pedestrian just like any other tourist entrance. And then it opens up.

 

 

 

 

 

I crossed the threshold into the South Aisle and turned left into the beginning of the naive. I simply could not speak, for I had no words for what I saw before me. Column after column holding up arch after arch, repeated over and over. The northern end of the cathedral was renovated during the Victorian era, pastel frescoes ornamenting the vaulted ceilings above.

 

   

 

There really was so much to take in. I’m not exactly a religious person. Organised religion and spirituality is something that I’ve found quite difficult over the years. But the enormity of this building was not lost on me. I returned to the spot from which I first took my first glimpse down its infamous naive and slid into a seat in the second row from the back.

I sat there absorbing everything that I saw before me. Imagining the experience for those who first passed through these walls early in the 13th century. Did they sit there (just like I was) in total wonder at this marvel of human achievement? I was simply awash with love at the heady yet simple combination of repetition, light and scale of this marvellous building.

The calm that this sacred place imbued was palpable. Regardless of one’s religious beliefs or stances, one cannot deny that this building possessed some kind of magic. That whilst ensconced within these gothic walls, the monotonous, everyday issues that bind our minds in endless knots, dissolves into a million invisible threads of inner peace. Our physical presence feels of lesser importance and one begins to think of oneself as more part of the collective human whole.

I pulled myself away (albeit sideways) from the the cathedral’s majesty to the equally mindblowing room holding the Magna Carta. Yet another architectural space which had its own magical force, had its own spirit. Two hours had passed whilst I marvelled at this wonder of human vision, determination and achievement.

To be honest, a large part of me did not want to leave, and that feeling confused me. That despite my detestation of the church over the years, I could feel so cleansed and filled with inner calm. But alas, I took my leave of this great monument and alighted for another.

 

 

Old Sarum has been a place my mother had mentioned to me a couple of times before and I was delighted to see it was a mere short bus ride away from Salisbury’s town centre. I knew not much of it to be utterly frank, remembering only that it was some sort of sacred place, a ruin perhaps.

 

 

 

After one failed attempt at stopping the bus at the appropriate moment, I eventually arrived at Old Sarum. Yet again, another attraction with the most unassuming, humble entrance. The walk from the extremely busy road gave no hint of what it was leading towards. A measly walking track between two fields ebbed its way up and around to the right, through a farm gate. A curved wall of green grass stood before me, a single strip of tarmac piercing its centre the only hint of there being anything within this turfed ring forming the first of two moats.

 

 

At the end of the road was the second moat, although this time the moat was deep and the incline steep to the ruined fortification that is Old Sarum. This place has an undeniable vibe. There is evidence of possession of this land since Neolithic periods, 3,000 BC to be precise. This vibe I speak of has been felt through the ages. It has continued to be a place of strategic importance and significance through Roman, Saxon and Norman times. To think that this where William I was supposedly presented with the Domesday Book boggles the mind.

 

The site has a power that one can’t ignore. It was not hard at all to imagine the buildings that once stood on this site. Atop the ruins of William’s castle, you can see for miles. It is perhaps one of the few places I have been in the UK throughout my life, where I could practically see for miles in any direction.

Moving down from the ruins of the castle fortification is the site of the Old Sarum Cathedral. It is quite something to look down upon it from atop the ruins, the outlines of where gothic columns once stood piercing the even cover of green grass. The sun was out, yet its warmth was cut down by short gusts of icy wind that took my breath away in moments. It really was a place that sticks with you.