Kathleen, Queen of the Desert

Elizabeth Gurney Fry, 1780-1845

Perhaps a country shows its true colors through its bank notes.

In 1928, the US Treasury Department reviewed the portraits on bank notes and concluded that “portraits of Presidents of the United States have a more permanent familiarity in the minds of the public than any others.” Exceptions were made for Alexander Hamilton, Salmon Chase, and Benjamin Franklin. No changes in the people depicted on US currency (intended for the general public) have been made since 1928.

In England, portraits on its bank notes change regularly and have honored scientists, writers, engineers, musicians, social reformers, and politicians. Right now their currency honors Matthew Boulton and James Watt (on the 50-pound note), Adam Smith (on the 20), Charles Darwin (the 10), and Elizabeth Fry (the 5). (England does not have a 1-pound note. That denomination is a coin.)

I had never heard of Elizabeth Fry, so, as I paid for my latte and pain au raisin at the Caffe Nero recently, I asked the man behind the counter who the woman was on the fiver. The barista shrugged and said, “I guess she’s somebody who’s dead.” Minutes later, as I sat upstairs with my breakfast, he came up to my table and said, “She lived 1780 to 1845 and was a prison reformer.” Had this tourist’s question just kick-started the brilliant career of an barista-turned-historian? Not sure. But Fry seemed a woman worth knowing, so I looked her up. (Continued)

The friendlies selling tea, cakes, and scones.

It seemed to all be going on at Church of the Holy Trinity in Stratford-upon-Avon.

Perhaps its most famous going-on is that it is where Anne and William Shakespeare are buried. I paid a “Concession” (old-age) price of one pound to get up to the front of the church with the tourist crowd to see the slabs under which the Bard and his wife are buried. The church also hosts concerts and plays.

In front of the church is a lovely shaded cemetery with benches and mostly unreadable moss- and lichen-covered tombstones, providing respite for travelers and the genealogist I met looking for Morris family names.

There is also a tearoom at the back of the church, complete with tables and chairs and the three lively women in the photo. The day I visited, they were selling cakes and “cheeky rascals” (four-inch-wide cookie-like scones decorated with almond-and-cherry faces, a take on the three-times-larger Fat Rascal, made famous at Bettys, a tearoom in York).

How much should go on at–or inside–a church? Just baptisms, weddings, and other official religious ceremonies? Or might famous pay-to-see tombs, concerts, plays, and cheeky rascals for sale help a church keep the common touch for everyone in the community . . . including a weary tourist getting handed a cup of tea by a friendly face?

Sam and I at the Large Bath

I was first in the old Roman spa town of Bath, England, in 1983, with a husband and a small boy in my arms. That little boy is now married, about to become a father, has just graduated from law school, and his father and I are divorced. Nothing is guaranteed, nothing stays the same, but most things were also at one time bathed in golden rays of sunshine. That day 31 years ago was beautiful and fine and filled with pride and accomplishment in being parents.

I have been back to Bath several times since then, most recently a few weeks ago. It amazed me how much I had forgotten about this ancient town: the swans, the Avon’s parks and sculptured water falls, the great pub and restaurant food, the cricket fields, and the honey-colored stone terraces in front of which the rich preened and paraded.

Perhaps my forgetting was about being just another overwhelmed mom on holiday, making sure a small boy stayed safe, fed, clean, and swaddled in his mother’s love.