Upon Foreign Stones, A Firmer Step
Dear Faithful Companion,
Wednesday night, Jesse and I returned home from nearly two remarkable weeks in London. And today, with the stillness of home upon me and the weight of memory quietly settling in, I find myself drawn to pen and page. We had planned this journey for some time, and its arrival felt like the unlocking of a long-awaited door. It did not disappoint. We return with so many incredible memories that to choose just one would be to overlook the richness of the rest.
Our time at Westminster Abbey set the tone for all that followed. Walking among the tombs and tributes of monarchs, poets, soldiers, and statesmen, I was reminded that greatness rarely announces itself—it is discovered later, etched in stone by those left behind. The stalls of the members of the Order of the Bath stood as solemn testaments to honour and service. To see in person the very location where kings and queens have sat in worship brought the continuity of monarchy into vivid clarity.
At the Tower of London, we wandered freely through history. The Crown Jewels were more than glittering symbols of monarchy—they were statements of heritage and continuity. The armour displays brought centuries of warfare and nobility to life, but perhaps the most hauntingly human element were the carved names and messages left by prisoners centuries ago. To run one's hand across those weathered etchings was to touch a moment of personal anguish, hope, or defiance suspended in time.
Throughout the city, the presence of the Guard was a quiet constant. I stood for the Changing of the Guard, not as a tourist, but as one who understands deeply the symbolism behind that march—the quiet power of discipline, tradition, and vigilance. Whether at Horse Guards Parade, or seeing them on duty at the Tower of London, the experience was never routine. It was ritual—an expression of sovereign dignity through the language of unbroken rhythm and silent watchfulness.
Our visit to the Royal Hospital Chelsea was made all the more memorable by the pensioner who guided us. With grace, humour, and quiet pride, he walked us through the grounds, sharing stories of service, memory, and the bond that endures among those who wear the uniform. He reminded us that those who enter the gates of the Royal Hospital do so knowing it will be their final posting. They are cared for until the end, and when the time comes, carried from the chapel and laid to rest on the very grounds they once marched upon. There was something deeply reassuring in seeing a place where those who have served are not forgotten, but honoured in life and in legacy.
At St. John’s Gate, my heart stirred. The stones spoke not only of the Order’s storied past but also of my personal connection to its ongoing mission. To descend into the crypt, cool and quiet, was to enter a space of reflection. I thought of my time in the Order, the meaning of service to fellow humans in distress, and the virtue of quiet stewardship. To see the names of so many distinguished senior members of the Order inscribed upon the walls of the Charter Room and the upper chamber was to stand in quiet company with giants.
Brighton offered a change of pace—sunlight, sea air, and unabashed joy. We strolled the Brighton Pier Arcade, where simple fun took precedence over formality. Laughter came easily. The Royal Pavilion, with its ornate and unexpected splendour, was a remarkable contrast to the martial and ecclesiastical grandeur of earlier stops—a reminder that beauty too, has its own discipline. The evening at the Haus of Cabaret provided a dazzling, artful celebration of expression and theatricality—an unexpected but deeply enjoyed moment of play and release.
Our time with Art, especially during our private tour of Windsor Castle, stands as a highlight among highlights. To roam the halls with a trusted guide and dear friend, to see parts of the Castle that few ever lay eyes upon, was an honour that humbled us. We were truly blessed in those hours, and the memory of them will linger long. The chapel there, with the stalls of the members of the Order of the Garter, was a deeply powerful sight. To stand where monarchs have knelt in prayer was a sobering privilege. And to visit the crypt of Queen Elizabeth II and Prince Philip—so newly part of the history themselves—was a moment of deep and quiet reflection.
As a heraldist and past President of the Royal Heraldry Society of Canada, it was a profound moment to visit the College of Arms and be personally toured by Garter Principal King of Arms. To stand among ancient rolls, armorial registers, and the physical records of identity and honour—it stirred both pride and purpose. Our appreciation for that experience runs deep.
We also spent a meaningful evening with Rafe, sharing a pint and conversation at a quiet pub “Canadian”. It was an easy, unhurried time—discussing the changes in our lives, our shared love of Canada, and the kind of reflections that only surface when one is truly at ease. In that simple setting, amidst good ale and better company, I found one of the journey’s quietest joys.
Of course, there were countless pubs, countless pints, and truly excellent food—some of the coziest and most storied establishments London had to offer. Between fine meals and casual laughter, we found another form of heritage: the everyday joy of good company.
By the end of the second week, our feet certainly felt the journey—but our spirits remained full. We are deeply grateful for the memories, the moments, and the experiences we now carry with us. There is still more to see, and we hope to return again one day—perhaps with time set aside to explore the shops along St. James’s, Pall Mall, and Piccadilly Arcade. We are also thankful for those who offered kind suggestions before our travels and especially to those who met with us in person—your presence made the adventure all the more personal and enjoyable.
To have shared these experiences with Jesse only deepened their meaning. His presence brought lightness to history, perspective to reflection, and laughter to long walks. Some journeys may change us—but others, like this one, quietly shape us together
Verbum Ultimum
This journey was never just about travel. It was a deliberate act of reconnection—with history, with culture, with friends, and with parts of ourselves that often lie dormant beneath the daily grind. I return not only replenished but recalibrated.
I saw how legacy is preserved in brick and ritual. I witnessed how care for those who served speaks volumes about a nation’s soul. I felt the joy of old friends, and the peace of knowing we are, in this life, exactly where we are meant to be—when we choose to live deliberately.
And so, I close this chapter with a full heart and a sharpened mind.
I shall pass through this world but once—let it be with eyes wide and purpose firm.
JCB
