In the footsteps of C. S. Lewis

Friday, July 15

From the time Meg was 3, Al began reading The Chronicles of Narnia aloud, and the stories have been a necessary part of Reichelt family lore ever since.  So on our last afternoon in Oxford, Al and I decided to explore further in the footsteps of C. S. Lewis, who studied, taught, wrote, and, of course, drank, in Oxford for most of his life.    After much map-wrestling, we found the bus that would take us out to Risinghurst, the neighborhood about 20 minutes outside Oxford where Lewis lived.  A lady on the bus overheard us asking the driver about the route and promised to show us where to get off.  Another of the serendipitous moments on this trip:  she happens to be one of the volunteer administrators of the C. S. Lewis Foundation living at the house, so we received escort to the front door of Lewis’ house, The Kilns.

The Kilns originally belonged to the family of Lewis’ friend Paddy Moore, who was killed in WWI.  Lewis moved into The Kilns with Paddy’s mom and sister, and when Mrs. Moore died, he took over the house.  During WWII, it was a house owned by a crotchety old professor (guess who?) who sheltered children from the London Blitz – certainly the inspiration (though on a much smaller scale) for the setting of The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe.

Since the house is now used as a residence for scholars working on C. S. Lewis, we had not expected, from the web info, to be allowed inside, and had hoped at the most to be allowed to take pictures of the outside and then to walk through his wooded property, now a nature preserve and the inspiration for Narnia.   However, Debbie Higgens, our bus-companion-turned-escort, hearing of our family and scholarly interest, left us for a few minutes in the garden while she went into the house to see whether the common rooms might be free for us to visit. 

While we waited, we took pictures of the house exterior, including Lewis’ punt, and the garden.  While we were in the garden, a cat decided to make friends with me, rubbing against my leg.  For once, unfortunately, I did not shake him off.  A sudden gust of wind slammed the front door of the house shut, and the cat, spooked by the noise, raked across the first 2 toes on my left foot and leaped, leaving slice lines which immediately poured blood into my sandal (Charlie Marlowe in Heart of Darkness, except that my blood-in-the-shoe experience involved my own blood. OK, so how bizarre is it that, with toes looking and burning as if they could be amputated on the dotted line, I was alluding to Heart of Darkness?)  But meanwhile, after much solicitous Neosporin-and-British-Band-Aid care from Debbie, we were brought into the common rooms of the house:  Lewis’ parlor, where the mustard-colored ceiling witnesses to the years of smoking and conversing by Lewis and his associates, where his desk still sits at the window; and the dining room, which shows the more feminine influence of his wife Joy Gresham (a late-blooming romance chronicled in the movie Shadowlands).  Random digression:  how appropriate that his semi-autobiographical work, Surprised by Joy, the account of his conversion from atheism to Christianity (an experience he referred to as “Joy”), should contain the name of his wife, whom he met, unexpectedly, late in life.  Mysterious are the workings…. We also received information about the all-night walk-and-talk with Tolkien, which was instrumental in Lewis’ conversion decision.

After our lovely time with Debbie in the house, we rambled through the nature preserve.  Narnia, indeed.  Wooded pathways, tangled trees under which I expected to see a badger or at least a beaver….  Al shot several pictures of a tree whose roots, if examined closely, could have been any number of slumbering animals!

After our wandering through Narnia, we hiked (yes, my toes hurt!) to Headington Quarry, the next town over, to Trinity Church, the site of Lewis’ grave.  This was the first of several churchyards we visited.  Intriguing to find that many grave plots have a headstone, and then a stone border around the burial plot in which a miniature garden is panted. Lewis’ grave is not a mini-garden, but a simple rectangular slab in the ground.  A simple, sacred spot.  I found a tiny pine cone nearby, which I picked up for Meg.  A bit of life in death.

Could not get into the church to see the plaque which indicated that Lewis worshipped there.  The story goes that he and his brother used to leave after communion and let the door slam behind them…  But we did find the Narnia window (created in memory of two parishioners who died very young).  Al shot a series of pictures through the outside bars:  Aslan, Mr. Beaver, Reepicheep, etc.  A glorious collage.

Limped back to the bus stop.  Al went to his final dinner with his class.  I, having finished my class at 11 that morning, returned to the garden at Worcester.  Walked along the pond and wished desperately that I had the camera (Al had it for his farewells) so that I could capture the water lights flaming up the trees which bordered the pond.  Wonderful solitary dinner at The Duke’s Cut for a final Oxford pub experience.  We took a late train back to London that night.

Saturday in London: rain, just slept and hung out.  Lovely to read, nap, write a bit.  Saturday night to Ariel and Peter’s club (Home House) – felt as if I was in one of the private London gentleman’s clubs of the 19^th C – completely elegant in décor, completely comfortable bar with plush leather chairs and sofas around small tables.  Corsican pizza down the street for dinner afterward. Wonderful conversation at all times.

One of the longest, most relaxing Sundays in ages – to the market (cheese, fish, flowers), nap, reading, sharing the cooking with Ariel and Peter – amounted to a Far Eastern cooking lesson (Cambodian fish curry; potatoes and spinach w wonderful spices).  Ariel and Peter work way too long and hard during the week, but I am envious of their weekends.  What I would give for weekends without grading and without both computers!!!!!

And so we prepared for our southern pilgrimage.