(no subject)
My English Excursions and their Effects on My Life
by Kaylan Wessels
I’ve always been a bit of an Anglophile, or one who admires England, its people, and its culture. I was fed on so much English fancy and fairytale since birth that British myth is veritably flowing through my veins. The desire to be a part of that culture is intrinsic. It isn’t that I don’t love my country, but, to me, 300 measly years of history aren’t enough to sate my need for the ancient, for legend, heroics, and the chivalry of Medieval times. Such stories and tales rouse my soul in ways that America’s Civil War, in all its glorious gunpowder, cannot.
As I’ve said, it isn’t just the history of the United Kingdom that captures me, but also its rich culture and speech. Growing up, I was taught to savor words, to comprehend and treasure them past nominal understanding. To fully do so is quite difficult for someone being raised in Western Pennsylvania, but in England, words and their meanings are cherished and important. I was also raised listening to British musical artists, the group Genesis in particular. My father’s idol, the World War II-era Prime Minister of England Sir Winston Churchill, has become one for me as well. Much of the literature I read is written by English authors, and I often catch myself using British spellings in homework assignments. The word “gray” will always be “grey” for me, whether I’m describing the color or the mood. When I discovered that my grandfather’s birth parents were from England, I literally jumped with joy.
Thus my obsession with Britain grew and eventually festered throughout my childhood. I longed to visit the great nation of my imagination for a full twelve years. Finally, just following my twelfth birthday, my heart’s wish was granted, after arduous years of begging and pleading with my parents to take me. My mom, dad, younger brother and I “crossed the pond” (the Atlantic Ocean) and spent a week in Europe -- four days in England, three in France. London was just as amazing as I had hoped. I visited all of the famous landmarks: Big Ben, Parliament, Trafalgar Square, Greenwich and the Prime Meridian, Piccadilly Circus, Buckingham Palace, Notting Hill, I could go on. We also visited the University “town” of Oxford while in England. Paris was also astonishing, yet somehow the Eiffel Tower, Montmartre, and the Champs Elysées didn’t compare to the halcyon capital of the United Kingdom. Unfortunately, while being the most wonderful vacation of my life thus far (and believe me when I say I’ve been on some pretty grand holidays), the small sample of England I tasted left me with a pulsating hunger for more.
The summer after my freshman year, due to even more persistent pestering from me, my father and I traversed to Southern England for another week as a “birthday present.” On this occasion, the city of York was added to our repertoire of London and Oxford. In York, I stood amidst the eighth century roots of the gothic Yorkminster, walked around the ancient outer defense of the city in the form of a great wall, and strolled along the Shambles, an old street on which a portion of the Harry Potter movies was filmed. The tours of London and Oxford were even more satisfactory than those of the first trip. This vacation was by far the best I have ever taken.
Finally journeying to London affected my life in many ways. The first and most obvious effect is the fact that I speak in a British accent fifty percent of the time. Stepping away from the terribly silly, my excursions have introduced me to Oxford, my dream university, and have inspired me to work even harder academically than I already did. I admit have a humble sense of superiority, if such a thing is possible, being one of the very few, nearing only, students in my school who has actually been to England. Many of my classmates have never even left Pennsylvania let alone the country. Also, the trips led me to the intrigue of the works of J.R.R. Tolkien, and many other successful British authors. Returning to England is still constantly on my mind, getting to see all of the things that I didn’t have room for the first two times around, such as Kent or a session of Parliament, or even Prince William. I hope to be able to attend a summer program this coming year at Cambridge, another British university. As a final consequence, I’d now love to become a British historian -- at least, it’s on a list with many other possible career paths, but it certainly is high up there. These are just a few ways that my holidays in Britain have changed my life.
by Kaylan Wessels
I’ve always been a bit of an Anglophile, or one who admires England, its people, and its culture. I was fed on so much English fancy and fairytale since birth that British myth is veritably flowing through my veins. The desire to be a part of that culture is intrinsic. It isn’t that I don’t love my country, but, to me, 300 measly years of history aren’t enough to sate my need for the ancient, for legend, heroics, and the chivalry of Medieval times. Such stories and tales rouse my soul in ways that America’s Civil War, in all its glorious gunpowder, cannot.
As I’ve said, it isn’t just the history of the United Kingdom that captures me, but also its rich culture and speech. Growing up, I was taught to savor words, to comprehend and treasure them past nominal understanding. To fully do so is quite difficult for someone being raised in Western Pennsylvania, but in England, words and their meanings are cherished and important. I was also raised listening to British musical artists, the group Genesis in particular. My father’s idol, the World War II-era Prime Minister of England Sir Winston Churchill, has become one for me as well. Much of the literature I read is written by English authors, and I often catch myself using British spellings in homework assignments. The word “gray” will always be “grey” for me, whether I’m describing the color or the mood. When I discovered that my grandfather’s birth parents were from England, I literally jumped with joy.
Thus my obsession with Britain grew and eventually festered throughout my childhood. I longed to visit the great nation of my imagination for a full twelve years. Finally, just following my twelfth birthday, my heart’s wish was granted, after arduous years of begging and pleading with my parents to take me. My mom, dad, younger brother and I “crossed the pond” (the Atlantic Ocean) and spent a week in Europe -- four days in England, three in France. London was just as amazing as I had hoped. I visited all of the famous landmarks: Big Ben, Parliament, Trafalgar Square, Greenwich and the Prime Meridian, Piccadilly Circus, Buckingham Palace, Notting Hill, I could go on. We also visited the University “town” of Oxford while in England. Paris was also astonishing, yet somehow the Eiffel Tower, Montmartre, and the Champs Elysées didn’t compare to the halcyon capital of the United Kingdom. Unfortunately, while being the most wonderful vacation of my life thus far (and believe me when I say I’ve been on some pretty grand holidays), the small sample of England I tasted left me with a pulsating hunger for more.
The summer after my freshman year, due to even more persistent pestering from me, my father and I traversed to Southern England for another week as a “birthday present.” On this occasion, the city of York was added to our repertoire of London and Oxford. In York, I stood amidst the eighth century roots of the gothic Yorkminster, walked around the ancient outer defense of the city in the form of a great wall, and strolled along the Shambles, an old street on which a portion of the Harry Potter movies was filmed. The tours of London and Oxford were even more satisfactory than those of the first trip. This vacation was by far the best I have ever taken.
Finally journeying to London affected my life in many ways. The first and most obvious effect is the fact that I speak in a British accent fifty percent of the time. Stepping away from the terribly silly, my excursions have introduced me to Oxford, my dream university, and have inspired me to work even harder academically than I already did. I admit have a humble sense of superiority, if such a thing is possible, being one of the very few, nearing only, students in my school who has actually been to England. Many of my classmates have never even left Pennsylvania let alone the country. Also, the trips led me to the intrigue of the works of J.R.R. Tolkien, and many other successful British authors. Returning to England is still constantly on my mind, getting to see all of the things that I didn’t have room for the first two times around, such as Kent or a session of Parliament, or even Prince William. I hope to be able to attend a summer program this coming year at Cambridge, another British university. As a final consequence, I’d now love to become a British historian -- at least, it’s on a list with many other possible career paths, but it certainly is high up there. These are just a few ways that my holidays in Britain have changed my life.