“. . . we should lay down our book, lean back in our chair, close our eyes, and ask ourselves what we see in the glowing gallery of our mind.” — Henry Guppy in The Art of Reading (1929)
1) The morning took me slowly — all I did was go across the street to the little Caffé Nero for a latte and a cinnamon roll.
2) Except the time had unavoidably come to get a haircut and a beard trim. I’d brought my beard trimmer, of course; but the first time I plugged it in (with the electrical adapter), it made such an alarmingly loud noise I was sure Karen Black would soon be screaming “There’s no one flying the plane!” And by this day I’d reached what one friend referred to as the Grizzly Adams Stage. Action had to be taken.
2a) Lucky me, there was a barber shop a block and a skip from the hotel, and a young man managed to make me look respectable. When your hair is all you’ve got, it’s an anxious thing to put it in the hands of a stranger. And his approach was so random, and I was not expecting him to apply shaving cream to my temples. But I left looking sprucer, which is what I needed.
The back of Manchester Cathedral.
3) By noon I felt I must do something and headed into a suddenly sunny afternoon in the general direction of the cathedral, about 15 minutes away. En route I discovered that Manchester really is a city of barbers. I felt I was seeing a barber show every 50 feet or so.
3a) Manchester Cathedral has many scars and styles to show for its 600 (!) years of ministry: medieval and Gothic stonework, tasteful and marvelous monuments of the 18th and 19th centuries, postwar stained glass windows. When I entered the first thing I was aware of was the amplified voice of a priest in prayer; a service was taking place in the quire. While tourists are welcome, this is still very much an active community of faith.
3b) Of particular note near the entrance were plaques memorializing personal visits made by her late Majesty Queen Elizabeth II to commemorate different occasions.
4) This was very much in Manchester’s shopping district. At midday it was full of both locals and tourists and chain everything: stores, restaurants, the works.
5) But I found my way to St. Ann’s, and as it happened entered in the middle of an organ recital. Silently I crept into a back pew, where I could tell that I was in the youngest 10% of the audience of about 50 people.
5a) I really didn’t know what to make of the piece being played as I came in, but it received an enthusiastic ovation as the organist came bounding out from behind the console, a Man Older Than I in a swish red velvet jacket. He told a funny story about substituting for an injured colleague at a concert elsewhere, where he met a member of the audience. “Y’know, you and [the other organist] are quite different.” “How d’you mean?” “Well,” said the audience member, “You’re a great entertainer, and he’s a consummate professional.” Insert Appreciative Laughter Here.
5b) The rest of the recital, about 20-30 minutes, was both beautiful and contemplative, though it led me as so often to my many sins. How appropriate this should take place in a church . . .
At St. Ann’s.
5c) If Manchester Cathedral was dark and spacious and scarred by battle, St. Ann’s was creamy-bright, refined, contained, and focused on higher things. (If you’ve read Nancy Mitford’s The Pursuit of Love, think of Alconleigh as the cathedral and Merlinford as St. Ann’s.) The beautiful stained glass windows were all late-19th or early-20th century, some commemorating royal occasions.
6) Someone had referred me to the John Rylands Library as a feature of Manchester, and I’m glad I remembered it, and I’m glad it was rather close to St. Ann’s. If I was in the younger 10% of that recital audience, I was in the older 20% of the many people in and around Rylands. How wonderful! How vigorous, and yet quiet (this being a library)! A superb Gothic building of 1900, now joined to a more modern addition, the vibe I got was very Boston Athenaeum.
6a) And how fortunate for me, they had a special exhibition on: The Secret Public: LGBTQ pop 1955-1985, an examination of “the profound influence of LGBTQ and LGBTQ-friendly performers on mainstream pop culture.” What a romp!
7) Returning home, I was distracted by a sign that read “St. Mary’s (Hidden Gem),” which eventually turned out to be a Catholic Church accessible most readily through narrow alleys. I had to enter through a confused tourist family. The “Cleaning in Progress” sign on the door was proved by the hum of the vacuum cleaner on the right side of the church. Sun-filled and salmon pink, I had to scrunch by a cluster of activity in the little shop to sit in a pew well behind two people in prayer.
8) Back at my hotel briefly, and then — a slave to habit — I went back to Richmond Tea, this time for dinner: a double whiskey and a steak and ale pie.
9) The evening I spent doing nothing productive, just watching Persuasion and doing my best not to think. I would need to pack in the morning and return to London for another week.
Brief, concise, specific.