debitha | Canterbury Tales

There are places and times that fire the imagination. For me, Canterbury in October is one of those places in time. Here are four stories that wanted to be told.

The Greyfriars Violinist

If you walk down the left bank of the river Stour to the Greyfriars chapel on an autumn after noon, you might see a young man practicing his violin. But by the time you walk back down to the footbridge, cross the river and come up the other side, there will be no one there but a single white dove.

The Man Who Wasn’t Kit Marlowe

Once upon a time there was a man named Thomas Denne. He grew up in Chelmsford, and attended Corpus Christi College at Cambridge, where he had a portrait painted. He had long dark hair that he wore loose, dark eyes and a slightly devilish smile. After some wild days at school he became a merchant, married the pleasant daughter of another successful merchant, had three sons and five daughters, and died in his sleep aged 78.

In life he was a satisfactorily wealthy, respectable and contented man. In death he became a playwright, a lover of young men, a spy, a fool, an intriguant.

The Church That Wasn’t There

In the middle of Canterbury stands an empty space in the shape of a church. At the back is a horse trough lovingly dedicated to a regiment’s horses. The floor is laid with flags and gravestones of people otherwise long forgotten. It lacks only walls and a roof.

The Cathedral Cat

Just to the north of where the Nave joins the Quire, there is an antechamber leading, on one side to the Crypt, where Thomas Beckett was murdered, and on the other to the Cloister. If you step outside you will find, to the right of the great door, a much smaller door. On it is a small sign that reads ‘Private’, and in front of it sit two bright orange plastic bowls. If you are very lucky, you might catch sight of the owner of those bowls – the large white and ginger tom who owns the cathedral, as only a cat can. If you are very lucky indeed he might permit you to scratch his ears.