There's No Place Like London...or Milton

I took a day trip to London on Saturday, 7 June, the day before I was to run the British 10K.

Turns out there was no race exposition like I originally thought, but there was a festival hosted by Nike...only I didn't find out about it until too late.

O well. Didn't need Nike marketing junk anyways!

Regardless of missing the festival, I saw the changing of the guards at Buckingham Palace (I was up against the barricade at one of the gate entrances, so I got a close-up view of the band!), ate lunch in St. James's Park, visited Westminster Abbey (naturally, the High Quire was my favorite part. It made me appreciate--and miss!--my RSCM days), found the baggage drop-off for the race, walked to St. Paul's (where I sang a bit from Mary Poppins's "Feed the Birds"), and visited Milton's birthplace and place of burial.

At Buckingham after watching the changing of the guards.

My High Quire picture. Makes me miss my RSCM days!

At Parliament Square

St Paul's! Toppins a bag, anyone?

In front of Milton's birthplace on Bread St.

Yes, that's right. Milton. You know, the one I've been obsessing over for about a year now? You know, the Paradise Lost guy? Yeah, him. (Oh, and I also saw where Charles I was beheaded--for which Milton was a big, even huge, advocate--at Whitehall Palace.)

Needless to say, it was a very emotional moment, seeing Milton's statue in St Giles-without-Cripplegate  (weird name for a church, huh?), holding a copy of none other than Paradise Lost. (It's good to know someone else looks after Milton, too...)

I'm not sure I've ever been so fascinated--or more intrigued--by another author. Milton wrote Paradise Lost blind (he dictated it to one of his daughters), not to mention that it is one of the most epic works--and yes, I do mean epic...muse and all--of all time. I love the ways he plays with language and gets readers to look at his work vertically and horizontally. I love how sly he is. How clever. How ingenious. (It also helps that I had a killer professor for my Milton class. Wish I could study under him for a Ph. D...)

Frankly, Milton is my literary idol, and seeing his statue standing there in front of me still gives me chills. I must've spent over an hour in that church, photographing his statue and his burial spot in the nave.

I left a piece of my heart beneath that London church floor.

The church was once just outside the London city walls and is very old. Now there is a BEAUTIFUL residential courtyard with the old London wall remains, in addition to a girl's school, that surround the church. Since there is no room to add Sunday school rooms or anything of the sort, they hold Sunday school in the side aisles (there was a mock igloo and reading loft) and use the would-be narthex for storage. In there other aisle is a small church library and gift shop comprised of mostly pamphlets. Needless to say, it is a very small church, but I think Milton would've been happy spending his days there. It felt homey, like it had a sense of warmth and unity about it. I also like to think that he would've liked how the parish adapted the old church to fit its new needs, rather than sticking to more traditional methods of running a church.

St Giles-without-Cripplegate: Milton's burial place

Some very esoteric group was rehearsing for their evening concert while I was there, but their sound guy took a picture of me with Milton. We'll have to see how it turned out, but it's possible I've found my photo to be immortalized in the Holmes basement.

Across whatever time and space boundaries may exist, I think Milton and I are kindred spirits of a teacher eager to teach (his audience anyways) and a devout pupil eager to learn. I ate my dinner of baguette, croissant, and the last of my Paris camembert outside of the church to savor my last bit of Milton time. Yet I feel sure we will meet again, for all I have to do is open one of his books, and it will be as if I never left St. Giles.

Milton and Me
"Of man's first disobedience and the fruit of that forbidden tree..."