Literary Travels, Part I

I recently chaperoned a school trip to Europe. The theme of the trip was WWI/WWII Battlefields, and I learned so much in the way I most enjoy learning: experientially.  It was, of course, a trip of stories, and I am grateful that this experience is part of mine.

Our first stop was London, England, a destination I'd traveled to once before and so was comfortable making time to see the literary sites I've longed to visit, even if it meant missing a few of the traditional highlights.

Before we left for the trip, the one place I was most excited to visit was Westminster Abbey.  On a past trip, I had stood outside the Abbey, and I so longed to go inside, in particular to see Poets' Corner.  If you've read enough of my blog, then you will know that Thomas Hardy is my literary husband.  From the moment I met Tess Durbeyfield, I was hooked.  I even completed an independent study in the works of Thomas Hardy whilst in graduate school, a course for which my only grade was an extensive research paper and oral defense on the relationship between women and the clergy in his novels.  Hardy's ashes (minus his heart, which is buried with his family) are interred at Poets' Corner, so it has been a dream of mine to stand in his presence.

You can imagine my absolute ecstasy as I walked through Westminster Abbey, standing in the presence of kings and queens, gazing upon the Coronation Chair, making my way to Poets' Corner.  I placed my hands on Chaucer's tomb, gazed at the memorial plaque to the Bronte sisters, and chuckled when I saw Oscar Wilde's name nearly out of sight (more on him later).

And yet, I could not find Thomas Hardy.  I walked in circles, scoffing at Ted Hughes (I have feelings on that one), pitying T.S. Eliot, admiring the acknowledgment of Jane Austen's genius.  No Thomas Hardy.  Finally I took a peek at my cell phone (no photos allowed--and I'm a bit of a rule follower, so I was keeping it tucked away) and Googled Thomas's location.  There it was in the photo--right next to Charles Dickens.

I spun around, found Dickens, and...ah, yes, of course.  Thomas Hardy's marble stone was covered with a piece of carpet and surrounded by orange caution cones connected by yellow tape.

His marble has recently been replaced.  The carpet, I learned from a docent who, before I could inquire, informed me that no, he could not move it, would be off in two weeks.

And so I stared at that carpet square--oh, how I stared--trying to have my moment with Thomas.  It didn't quite do it for me.

Though I didn't check this item off of my bucket list, I still had a lovely time in London.  I enjoyed a magical afternoon tea at Covent Garden, snapped pictures of The Savoy (with a dream of having tea here just as my darling Oscar Wilde did), saw the Crown Jewels, and toured the Churchill War Rooms.  London never truly disappoints.  Besides, now I have a pressing reason to return.  Perhaps third time's the charm?

Next stop: France