Today was beautiful. A high of 58, a little windy, but lovely nonetheless. Too lovely to spend wasting away in the University's fortress/bunker-inspired library. So I grabbed my books and headed to the Cathedral. In ruins since the mid-sixteenth century, the Cathedral dominates the eastern end of town. What remains of the cloister, a large square of lawn surrounded on two and half sides by high stone walls, is the perfect place for a picnic, sunbathing, and the occasional studying student.
I found a wonderfully sunny niche in western facing wall, pulled out a book, and started reading. Surrounded by stones hewn in the fourteenth century, protected from the wind, I officially began working on my MLitt dissertation. I had been pleasantly sequestered in my little nook, delving into The Gude and Godlie Ballatis (the primary source for my dissertation) for about an hour when I heard a scratchy voice ask "Are you preparing for exams?" I poked my head out of my alcove.
There he was, a stooped, elderly Scotsman with a cane. In fact, I had heard the cane, clicking on the cobbles, before I had heard the voice. He smiled at me and asked again if I was preparing for exams. I replied that I was a postgraduate student and did not have exams, though it was not something you say too loudly within hearing of the undergrads, they might lynch you. (Side note: Another reason for not studying in the library was that it had become a beehive of activity, peopled by frantic undergrads preparing for their final exams, desperate looks in their eyes. The tension in the air was palpable. Which does not make for a pleasant studying experience.) He introduced himself. His name was Roland. Upon discovering that my name was Elizabeth, his smile broadened. His mother was named Elizabeth. And he had an aunt on his father's side named Elizabeth. They had both been in the Salvation Army and had often been confused for each other. Apparently, that is how his parents met--when the two Elizabeths had decided that since they were constantly being confused for each other, they should meet. They became friends, and eventually Roland's aunt-to-be introduced her brother to Roland's mother.
We chatted on for another fifteen minutes or so about the University, the hymns of John and Charles Wesley, and what Bill Clinton's title would be if Hilary became President. First Man? First Gentleman? Mr. President? (The Brits, and most Europeans for that matter, have a turned US Election speculation into something of a national pastime.) And just as suddenly as he had initiated conversation, with another smile he wished me the best in my studies and continued on his way, his cane clicking on the cobblestones as he rounded the corner and disappeared into the Cathedral nave.
So often, when I am in "school mode" I get so caught up in my own world of academia that I forget that I am on this pilgrimage of life with the rest of the human race. Every now and then something will cause me to poke my head out of my academic alcove, and encounter the rest of the world. It is nice to be reminded that there is more to that life than books. Thank you Roland.
