I love princess stories. I love to read them. I love to write them. I love to watch movies and shows about them. I love to make up stories about them in my head which will probably never be experienced by others. I dream of castles and moats and knights and dragons and damsels in distress. These dreams make my soul soar with excitement and joy.
And yet they have always been something I experienced second-hand. But now that I'm living in England, a land rich with medieval history, I get to experience these places in my own right. This weekend, my husband and I decided to make a spur-of-the-moment trip to Dover to see the famous White Cliffs. As we drove into the city we were greeted by the site of an ancient fortress perched above the cliff-face, looking over the modern city below.
The cliffs were breathtaking. Their height was more than a little nerve-wracking to a mother with three small children (none were let loose within fifty feet of the edge), but stunning. By the time we backed away from the edges, all of our noses were numb from the bitingly cold wind, but we didn't care. It was a lovely view and a fantastic experience.
After the cliffs we returned to the castle and began our medieval exploration. The castle was staged as it likely would have been in the 1180s when it was first built. The stones we walked on were worn with 800+ years of foot traffic. the winding staircases, with bits of plaster (or whatever the medieval equivalent was) flaking away. I could feel the bustle of the kitchen staff as I walked past the tables laden with wax food. a real fire crackled in the fireplace of the king's bedroom, filling the whole castle with the pleasant aroma of burnt wood and incense. Janie squealed with delight when the docent told her she could sit on the queen's throne. Each of my children found some hallway to explore, some new room to discover as they ran about the castle. All of this was lovely and exciting and fun. But as I looked into the courtyard from the rooftop, I realized in that moment I was seeing the view that my beloved princesses had as her favorite knight (or wizard or brother or suitor) returned home. That moment, as the wind whipped into my face, I could see the carriages and the horses and the muddy stones and the merchants and the knights preparing for battle. I could see the peasants with their sheep, the merchants guarding their wares, and the worried mothers clutching their babies as they rushed into the protective walls of the castle, while the invading army marched closer. I could see my princess begging her father to let her fight beside him, or asking the dressmaker how much for her cloth. I could see the queen welcoming in the exhausted, travel-worn ladies from the neighboring castle. In a single moment, these dreams were real to me.
Dover, my heart is yours.
