It is the Sabbath. My seventh day in Nottingham, but also a Sunday by chance. Today is The Day of Rest by anglo tradition. Lately, every day seems like a day of rest for me. I’ll be moaning and groaning once this extended holiday is over.To pass time, I meandered into town this evening hoping to find a quaint café where I could further unwind with book in hand. Along the way, I wandered past St. Peter’s Church where the evensong service was just beginning. I popped my head in to have a quick look.
I figured this must be the cornerstone on which God built his foundation. Before me was a mighty work of medieval masonry.
After a bit of research, I learned that St. Peter’s at the least serves as the cornerstone of Nottingham’s religious edifices, recognized as this town’s oldest building in continuous use.
Established during medieval times, the ancient parish, once catholic now Anglican, was rebuilt during the late 12th century after it was burned to the ground along with the rest of the town by the army of Empress Matilda.
At my feet, tombstones tile the ground, worn from centuries of traffic. I could barely decrypt their epitaphs. One described the death of a woman named Mary. Above, a nave roof made of solid oak stretches the length of the church. Etchings of the Tudor Rose reveal it was established sometime during the 15th century when artistic and emblematic enterprise was paramount.
On its own, the choir was impressive, but the acoustics in this building were at par with Sydney’s Opera House. With an opportunity to enjoy this free concert, I took a seat. A little rest on this Sunday evening.
