Reflections on Canterbury from an ex-pat St Pete's singer who is blessed to be able to return and sing with Dr. Martha Johnson and the members of the St. Peter's Choirs.

I come from Ireland, where I now live, to sing with the St. Peter's Choirs.

I notice immediately the contrasts between my new home and England. I forget how different they are; I feel they shouldn't be so different; after all, both are ancient Celtic-Christian cultures.

But, while the pastoral landscapes with lush green and freshly baled golden fields spotted with four legged creatures are similar, there is a scope, a vastness, and a feeling of comfort that is lacking in the Irish landscape, and if I must say so, the Irish Cathedrals and castles.

The difference lies in the vocabulary and the money behind that vocabulary. Not today's money, but the money of centuries – centuries of English despotism and conquering.

Georgian Estate houses in Ireland often have only three upstairs windows, because of the English "windows tax." Only the very wealthy had as many windows and the graciousness of Winston Churchill's Chartwell that we visited on arrival.

Irish cottages often had (now replaced) slits – similar to the slits for guns and arrows that we saw at Dover Castle – rather than windows. And towns – towns in England, seen from Gatwick to Canterbury and beyond, are graced by brick Tudor houses and Georgian storefronts, only occasionally interrupted by a McDonald's or Burger King. They bespeak affluence, even if only relative, and comfort; while in Ireland, the towns tend towards tourism quaint, with the occasional row of sometimes, recently restored, brightly doored, Georgian apartments, and working class pubs. More pubs per acre than anywhere else in the world, I'm afraid. Even here in Canterbury! More pubs than people – a tradition, perhaps, started as an escape from a history of brutal wars and reigns – especially British/Protestant.

As compared to the still thatched one story cottages that dimple the hills and roadsides of Ireland – cottages that once held the family's animals as well as the family itself – the Kent countryside, especially the villages and towns, seem elegant, refined, educated, and wealthy. Perhaps the educated part has to do with the English not allowing the Catholic Irish any kind of education.

And the Irish churches and cathedrals – of the Anglican variety outside of Dublin - are in dire straights. Many churches and rectories have been sold or allowed to disintegrate. There is no Evangelism. No bringing new people into the fold: only the old families supporting their parish churches. And, many of those have lost their history. They are dying.

In contrast, Canterbury Cathedral is a space filled with the glory of God. Echoes of music and the words of Thomas Beckett even now reverberate over the tourists' footsteps through the seemingly endless corridors and chambers of history and out the beautiful, arched, stained glass windows to the surrounding community. Are there still remnants of Beckett's blood between the stones where he was praying when they chopped off his head? We wondered if the CSI squad could find traces of his DNA. We scratched as our guide discussed Beckett's many layers of clothing – down to the hair shirt worn in penance next to his body, where the lice and fleas munched on his holy skin.

I feel quite lowly walking in these chambers – following the footsteps of those who have left their corporate mark on my being. I feel blessed to lift my voice in praise to God in the Holy space. And, certainly I am blessed to do that with Martha and the St. Peter's choirs.

Dianna Robin Dennis
Composer/Writer
Templemoyle Lodge
Shudane, Athenry
Co Galway, Ireland