The Pilgrims' Way - Winchester
Winchester. Wintanceaster to the Saxons. Venta Belgarum to the Romans before them. Famous for its cathedral (one of the largest in northern Europe), Winchester College, a 700 year old public school, and as King Alfred’s capital – the future first capital of a united England. Of course, above all, we know it as the place where Ade threw outrageous New Year’s Eve parties while we were students together.
This was meant to act as an introduction to the starting point of the Pilgrims’ Way, but Winchester is too crowded with memories to ignore. So much of my personal development has an association with this city that it’s hard to see it objectively. I could write a list of the top things to see, or a summary of its history, or secret food spots, or mention how it’s consistently ranked as one of the happiest places to live in England, but so could anyone else. I will write about things no one else can instead.
My relationship with Winchester stretches back a long way. At twelve years old, I was a soprano in the Hampshire County Choir and actually performed in the cathedral at Christmas. It represented the peak of my choral career before it was cut short by the cruel hand of puberty. Most significantly, however, I spent two years studying at Peter Symonds College (the sixth largest sixth form in England, which I didn’t realise at the time), years which now seem impossibly splendid and carefree, an endless summer spent having lunch on the field and talking with friends about Shakespeare plays and designing fantasy worlds. My time there gave me the chance to make some lifelong friends and opened my eyes to a whole new range of ideas, personalities, and orientations. It was like I had been added to a petri dish to absorb the cultures inside; it was a true prologue to adulthood.
As a result, the ghosts I walk past in Winchester act out scenes almost exclusively from this period of my life. Some of them are nice to inhabit again. I remember visiting the Christmas market in the snow. I remember helping my friend shoot their student film about jam. I remember the dinner lady hiding extra meatballs under the pasta for me at lunchtime.
There are also less sympathetic ghosts. I remember chasing the bus across the busy streets and up the hill after they closed the doors in my face. I remember where I was the last time a good friend talked to me. I remember walking through the woods with the girlfriend that taught me how to kiss, and breaking her heart in the church gardens later that year.
Now, once again Winchester is the setting for a significant moment in my life, a moment I know will create more ghosts to join the millions of others that stalk the streets. How much space would we have to ourselves if we could see them all I wonder. Just my own are enough for me.
Perhaps that has always been the draw of places like Winchester. The city heaves with history. It is occupied by Roman walls, Viking graffiti, saintly bones, and ruined palaces - all overlooked by Alfred the Great, the king of the Anglo-Saxons, set in bronze at the site of the former gateway. Pilgrims starting the long walk to Canterbury from the cathedral, as people did a thousand years ago, as my brother and I will do so from tomorrow, still participate in this living legacy. I only hope my own will one day be worth adding to it.
(This one got away from me a little bit, I admit, but I hope you liked that peek into my relationship with Winchester. The rest of the trip should be more casual in tone, so make sure to stick around!)
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