It's been a bit over a week since we arrived in London, and I think it's high time I shared another story with you all. Stories are much more interesting than some bullet point list of all the random sights I've visited, shows I've seen, blah blah blah, don't you find? Let's start at the beginning.
Long ago (no really, we're talking 1230 here) in a land far, far away (England... well, for you it's far), there lived a boy named John. He was a smart lad from a humble family who applied himself in his studies both in Oxford and Paris, and in his early 20s he became a Franciscan friar. At the age of just 49 he was elected Archbishop of Canterbury by Pope Nicholas III -- as a minor friar, the only non-Benedictine ever to hold the office. He did very influential work in many areas of study, from theology to optics, and completely reordered the clergy to enforce the teaching of Biblical doctrine to common people. He was a pretty legit guy.
John's last name was Peckham. Yes, I am descended from an Archbishop of Canterbury. No, they were not allowed to marry. Infer what you will. Some members of my family prefer to tell people we actually trace back to his brother Thomas. I suppose we'll never know for sure. But Dad's been telling me about this guy all my life, and I never really thought much about it until I visited Canterbury this past Thursday, popped into the Martyrdom to see where Thomas à Becket was murdered, and walk right by John Peckham's full cast-iron effigy (see pics below).
But seriously, it was a very interesting experience. My living extended family isn't particularly close, much less past generations, but in the cathedral I couldn't help but feel strangely connected to my own history. Sorry if this is getting weirdly sentimental. I'll stop now. Or as they say in stories like this, the end.
Linnea
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