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Welcome to the “Georgia Wasp…”
This blog is modeled on the Carolina Israelite. That was an old-time newspaper – more like a personal newsletter – written and published by Harry Golden. Back in the 1950s, people called Harry a “voice of sanity amid the braying of jackals.” (For his work on the Israelite.)
That’s now my goal as well. To be a “voice of sanity amid the braying of jackals.”
For more on the blog-name connection, see the notes below.
In the meantime:
March 28, 2026 – The last post talked about my hiking companions and I getting to Chilham. That quaint English town was a mere seven miles from our final destination, Canterbury. It sits on the River Stour and is home to Canterbury Cathedral, with its shrine of Thomas Becket, the archbishop murdered “on the king’s orders” in the cathedral in 1170. (A story told in the 1964 movie Becket, starring Richard Burton as Becket and Peter O’Toole as King Henry II.)
I started Wednesday morning the 27th with a hearty breakfast at Woolpack Inn; berry pancakes with a yogurt topping. Heading out we stopped at St Mary’s Church, where I got a Pilgrim stamp. Later we stopped and had a box lunch at a bench across the lane from the Chartham Hatch Village Hall. (And the ladies inside doing needlework were nice enough to let us use their restrooms.) But here’s what I wrote on August 28, our day off before heading up to London:
Somewhere over the last two days, “the trip left me.” Like Steinbeck’s Travels with Charley ended for him at Abingdon, “in the dog-leg of Virginia.” In other words, those last two days hiking I started thinking a lot about home, of getting a flavor-to-taste iced coffee each morning at the south Fayetteville RaceTrac. Or sleeping in my own bed. Or what kind of exercise I’d be doing first thing next Monday when I got home. And on the way home – do I go to the gym first or do a non-backpack hike at the Ridge Nature Center?
I wrote that bit at our digs at the City Centre Riverside Retreat, after touring the Cathedral and before heading up to London – and home. But back to that last day’s hike.
I noted in my Pilgrims’ Way Guidebook that at 9:45 a.m. we passed through the village of Old Wives Lees. “renowned for its tranquility and rural charm.” And that we got to Chartham Hatch at 11:35 a.m. The guidebook explained the word “hatch” as meaning a gap in a forest, and that this particular Hatch was a mere scattering of cottages until the 20th century. I noted that we reached Harbledown – “immediately west of Canterbury and contiguous with the city” – at 1:10 p.m. We reached the outskirts at 1:23 p.m., and passing through them Tom stopped to help a local make sense of a confusing bus-stop schedule. (Maybe as an “angel unawares?” Hebrews 13:2.) Finally, we arrived at the City Centre Riverside Retreat, said to be “a short walk from Canterbury West Train Station and less than 0.6 [mile] from Canterbury Cathedral.”
At long last, we made it to Canterbury. We’ll go to the Cathedral tomorrow, to make it official – get all stamped and credentialed – but for all practical purposes this year’s pilgrimage is history. (Except for hoisting a celebratory pint at some nearby pub later on today.) We started 15 days ago in Winchester, and it’s been interesting to say the least.
On Thursday, August 28, we slept late and first thing did several days’ worth of laundry. On the way there, as we were about to pass through the famous Canterbury Westgate, we saw some workers getting ready to rent out punts. (Poled boats, as in to “go punting on the River Stour?”) I thought maybe I might do that later that afternoon, but first we had to go to the Cathedral to get stamped and credentialed. And before that, do laundry
The nearest laundromat was in the east end of town – the part I didn’t see back in May – near St. Mary Bredin Church, at 59 Nunnery Road, where I tried to get another stamp. They didn’t have one, but they were having some kind of outreach event, and one of the nice ladies hand-drew a personalized and hand-written alternate stamp. After that, as the laundering clothes continued doing their thing, I visited Ark Music, Coffee and Bites, catty-corner from St. Mary Bredan. “A delightfully retro place, with real vinyl records for sale. (And good coffee.)”
After dropping off the laundry we lunched at Bill’s Restaurant & Bar, “a charming, modern eatery” at 5 Rose Lane. I had a house salad and Peroni Nastro Azzurro. (Easing back to my Spartan Kosher diet at home.) Then toured the Cathedral – free – and got a final stamp.
In my case, Canterbury was the last of 18 stamps in my book, starting with Winchester Cathedral on August 11. We got to enjoy the city for a day, without lugging heavy packs. Friday we’ll take the train to London. “I’ll see a thing or two there on Saturday, and fly home Sunday. (No doubt with visions of sugar plums and English pubs dancing in my head.)”
A note: We got to tour the Cathedral free because we were bona fide Canterbury Pilgrims. We showed our book of stamps from various churches along the Trail. Back in May “we” had to pay good money for the tour. But the place was still immense and overwhelming, and I saw some things I didn’t get to see in my Mid-May “Recon.” By the time we were done it was too late to go punting on the Stour, so we settled in for a home-cooked spaghetti dinner, with salad.
The next morning, before getting the train to London, we stopped at The Goods Shed, a “Farmers market, food Hall and restaurant” next to the Canterbury West train station. I got a cappuccino and “some kind of sweet apple-cherry pound-cake kind of thing,” while noting that when I get back home on Monday it would be “back to my regular Spartan Kosher diet.” And that after a show that night, “tomorrow my hiking partners will take the train to Spain” – for another Camino hike there – while I would fly back to the ATL.
After taking the train up from Canterbury we had to negotiate London’s packed and massive combination Tube, train and bus station at King’s Cross St Pancras tube station. And there came another adventure, of sorts. Among all the crowds of people getting on and taking off, we saw a guy “dead to the world, but not dead.” Passed out on a hard bench and attracting a large crowd, and eventually three or four security guys. (One a blonde lady.) It took at least 15 minutes to get him to respond. Which they did, in the fullness of time. Meanwhile we were checking our bearings, figuring where to have dinner after checking into The California, a hotel “made of London townhouses stitched together, and decorated with a patchwork of eclectic styles.”
We ended up dining at an Indian place, Masala Zone Covent Garden, “before ‘the THEE-ah-tuh,” mostly since it was right there in London’s theater district. In more easing back into my at-home Spartan Kosher diet, I had some kind of vegetarian sliders. “And those little green things were REALLY spicy.” (Plus, a “King of Indian beers.”) Which brings us full circle back to the post from September 29, 2025: My last day in London. And that Friday night in London when “Tom, Carol and I saw the Tina Turner Musical at Aldwych.” (Where a good show was enjoyed by all.)
Next morning Tom and Carol got up early to get that train down to Spain, via The Channel Tunnel, or “Chunnel” for short. Which I’m sure was quite an adventure as well, but I wanted to get back home. So, a bit later I got up, put on my pack and started hiking down Euston Road, past all the homeless tents. Near where Marylebone becomes Old Marylebone, I came across a statue of Sherlock Holmes near Baker Street. Then headed up Baker Street to 221B, across from a very touristy Sherlock museum. Very crowded, and it cost 20 GBP for what reviews said could be covered in 20 minutes? My response? “Nah!” I kept on hiking.
I’d booked a room at the Day’s Inn Hyde Park, Sussex Gardens, but check-in wasn’t until 2:00 and I got there at noon. So, I wandered over to Paddington Station., just to make sure it was where it was supposed to be. It was, but on the way, I passed the Dickens Tavern. And had two pints and the cheapest sandwich on the menu. I enjoyed the Dickens so much that I went back for an encore at 4:00, after checking in and taking a nap. Next morning I took the fast train to Heathrow, and in the fullness of time was able to board the flight.
“And that’s how the wanderer found his way home.”
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The upper image is courtesy of… Myself. I took the picture the morning after we trudged into Canterbury from Chilham. (See Towns & Villages in Canterbury – Visit South East England, on the town where we spent out last night on the Trail: “Renowned for its beauty and charm, the Kentish village of Chilham lies high above the valley of the River Stour in the picturesque Kent Downs.”
On Becket murdered “on the king’s orders,” see Becket controversy – Wikipedia, and a link therein, “Will no one rid me of this turbulent priest?” (Alternately, “Will no one rid me of this meddlesome priest?”) Henry made this outburst on Christmas 1170 at his castle at Bures, Normandy,
While the quote was not expressed as an order, it prompted four knights to travel from Normandy to Canterbury, where they killed Becket due to an ongoing dispute between crown and church. The phrase is commonly used in modern-day contexts to express that a ruler’s wish may be interpreted as a command by their subordinates. It is also commonly understood as shorthand for any rhetorical device allowing leaders to covertly order or exhort violence among their followers, while still being able to claim plausible deniability for political, legal, or other reasons. [Not that there’s any connection to current events or anything.]
Re: Monday when I got home. I got back home late Sunday, and my “partner” – lady friend, whatever – picked me up at the Atlanta airport. I drove home Monday morning from her place in Decatur.
Re: “The part I didn’t see back in May.” See the March 31, 2025, post, A mid-May “Recon,” then on to Canterbury! A preview that ended with A third preview post on the hike to Canterbury.
The lower image is courtesy of Dickens Tavern Paddington – Image Results. For more see Dickens Tavern Pub Restaurant in Paddington – Greene King, and Great pub in paddington, near the station.
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Re: The Israelite. Harry Golden grew up in the Jewish ghetto of New York City, but eventually moved to Charlotte, North Carolina. Thus the “Carolina Israelite.” I on the other hand am a “classic 74-year-old “WASP” – White Anglo-Saxon Protestant – and live in north Georgia. Thus the “Georgia Wasp.”
Anyway, in North Carolina Harry wrote and published the “israelite” from the 1940s through the 1960s. He was a “cigar-smoking, bourbon-loving raconteur.” (He told good stories.) That also means if he was around today, the “Israelite would be done as a blog.” But what made Harry special was his positive outlook on life. As he got older but didn’t turn sour, like many do today. He still got a kick out of life. For more on the blog-name connection, see “Wasp” and/or The blog.
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