My trip to Canterbury Cathedral next week on the 17th of April coincides just perfectly with the famous late-14th century pilgrimage at the heart of Chaucer’s Tales.
When April with his showers sweet with fruit
The drought of March has pierced unto the root
And bathed each vein with liquor that has power
To generate therein and sire the flower;
When Zephyr also has, with his sweet breath,
Quickened again, in every holt and heath,
The tender shoots and buds, and the young sun
Into the Ram one half his course has run […]
knowing that the sun left the sign of the Ram (Aries) about the middle of April.
Some 600 years later I am about to embark upon a similar journey, across all South East England.
I shall write more after the visit to Becket’s shrine and to other landmarks featured in the Tales. And so, without further gilding the lily,
Of England to Canterbury they went,
The holy blessed martyr there to seek