The Isle of Ely

We went to the Isle of Ely today.  It is no longer an island, but once it was completely surrounded by marshes.  Ely gets its name from the eels lurking in the muddy water encircling the town, and according to legend some of these creatures are former monks, transformed into eels by St. Dunstan for disobedience!

St. Ethelreda founded an abbey in the seventh century that eventually became the magnificent cathedral that towers over the city.  Her tomb was once the object of many pilgrimages to Ely, but the Reformation destroyed it, and today there is just a plaque on the floor where her shrine once stood.

Although it was freezing cold outside, I am still amazed at how bright green the grass is.  The cemetery lawn was especially bright against the stone of the cathedral.  There was a little market nearby where we browsed for samples of food--we got some good ones, too!  Inside the cathedral it was a little warmer, but you could still see your breath.

Heavy Romanesque nave arcade with a gallery and small clere story windows.  Essentially all of the original glass and many of the sculptures have been destroyed or beheaded by iconoclasts.  Oliver Cromwell lived across the street, though, so what would you expect?

It was very dark when we entered the cathedral, but pretty soon the midday sun started pouring in through the windows and illuminated the choir.

Colored light from the nineteenth-century stained glass windows cast purple and red shadows on the walls.

The side aisles were lined with tombs of bishops and abbots.

The High Altar was spectacular--intricately carved with scenes from the final week in the life of Christ with an elaborate Gothic framework surrounding it.  It was carved in the Victorian period with inlaid mosaic tiles like the great churches in Rome.

Impressive lancet windows behind the High Altar, backing the modern shrine to St. Ethelreda.

After returning to Cambridge, we went on a beautiful walk through the muddy countryside to Grantchester, a rural village whose famous teashop was patronized by Virginia Woolf. We almost had to turn back after walking a good thirty minutes of the way because there was a large group of cows eating grass in front of the gate we had to go through.  One of my sister's friends tried to get by, and a cow started butting him with its head.  It lifted him clear off the ground.  We all watched in panic--worried that our friend might be mauled to death by a docile milk cow and also worried that it might cause a stampede and crush us all into the mud!  My sister's friend got the cow under control by hitting its nose--remember that tip if ever you are attacked by a milk cow--and we continued on our way.

Before going to a candle-lit Epiphany carol service in St. John's College chapel, we had an English cream tea.  I was very happy to eat two large scones, a generous dish of clotted cream, blackberry and raspberry jam, and a mug of hot chocolate (the hot chocolate is the Mormon version of cream tea).  My sister tells me that almost no one can finish both scones, and it is practically unheard of to eat your whole portion of clotted cream.  Ha!  What is wrong with these poor folks of little appetite?