MEANDERINGS AND MUSINGS IN MAIDSTONE, KENT, ENGLAND
I slide onto a plain wooden chair at a sturdy table by the window, take out my pen and notebook and write:-
Why do I feel so at home here? Because the music is gentle and friendly and the servers are real; just nice British girls finding their way in this confusing world.
A slim teenager, wrapped in a brown and orange apron, brings my breakfast and sets it in front of me. Back bacon, eggs, sausage, baked beans, mushrooms and toast! It is two in the afternoon and I am hungry!
I woke up this morning at 10.00 a.m. from a deep sleep. Jet lag and catching the late train last night had disturbed my circadian rhythm, but I had firmly decided to attend the 10.30 Sunday morning church service. I scooped something to wear from my suitcase on the floor, shoved a hunk of malt bread and a bottle of water into my back pack, grabbed the phone that had Sat Nav (British for GPS), left a quick note for the other sleeping bodies in the flat and strode quickly across town and up the steep hill to St Luke’s. Inside, the massive pillars and arches of the imposing Victorian building embraced the congregation already singing praise songs to guitar and keyboard. Friendly smiles welcomed me and I found a seat. What a treat! I belonged. Acceptance, joy, and deep thoughts satisfied my mind and soul. I felt free to contribute and sneak a snack from my back pack when my stomach grumbled.
After chatting with friendly folk after the service, I meandered back to the pedestrian shopping area, searching for a good place to eat. I discovered a café advertising an enticing Breakfast Special: ‘Eggs Benedict with Side Salad garnished with Avocado Slices and Slivered Almonds’. I wandered inside and marveled at the spacious, ultra- modern, brightly-lit eating area. Awed by the gleaming tiled floor, high ceiling, little round patio tables for two, elegant wrap-around chairs and the great sweeping stairway leading to an upper level, I waited for the server, dressed in formal black, to greet me and take me to a table. He ignored me. Maybe it had something to do with my backpack, bum bag and casual dress. Surely I had remembered to brush my hair that morning? I turned my back on that cold, sterile, swanky environment. Further down Week Street, I found ‘Not Just Puddings’.
I am grateful to find this cozy café. It‘s little more than a “hole-in-the-wall”, almost Dickensian, but it’s my kind of place! And, it’s been hours since I rushed out the door this morning. No wonder I am hungry!
Scooping a forkful of baked beans, I hear the happy banter of youths chatting at a nearby table. My server tops up my coffee and the youths leave.
Cradling my mug in my hands I notice an elderly man sitting at a table outside. He’s been sitting there since I arrived. His gaze follows passers-by. He looks familiar to me, dressed as my father used to dress fifty years ago, always a jacket, tie, trousers and hat. A walking stick is propped by his chair. He watches people go by in shorts, tank tops and ball caps. He hears snatches of conversations in many languages that are not English. My father, if he were still living, would feel like the odd-man-out in this cosmopolitan city that once was quintessentially ‘English’. I’m going now, so, I nod and smile. He seems not to notice.
I leave the pedestrian area via Fremlin Walk, musing that each of us needs to sense that we are accepted, that we belong. Suddenly I snap to attention. Buses, motor bikes, taxis and trucks whizz past, just inches from my nose. The A20/M20 connecting London to the Channel Tunnel and the A229 to Rochester curve and intersect, vehicles travelling at dizzying speed. The traffic lights halt the frenzy and I cross. Gratefully I enter the cool shaded graveyard of All Saints Church on Mill Street. I imagine medieval worshipers leaving the solid flint and limestone walls of this huge church 600 years ago. I picture a peasant woman with a sack of grain, checking for horse- drawn carts as she crosses to Mill Street. And I wonder how Maidstonians will cross this intersection in 2625. Maybe it will be pedestrian-only, vehicles flying noiselessly overhead.
They will need the same thing humans have always needed: a place to belong.
by Andrea Kidd
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