Riding the Cambridgeshire sky like a great ship is the Ely Cathedral, but it is not the only thing to interest you there
It must be the oddest of English cathedrals, battered and defaced yet blessed with uniquely beautiful features that set it apart from the rest. The story of Ely Cathedral is an extended chapter of dramatic accidents and the struggle against time. But perseverance and the odd stroke of genius have kept the ship afloat, riding above the black soil and misty waterlands of Cambridgeshire fens.

I set out for Ely one frosty morning by bus. My fellow passengers were all OAPs (old-age pensioners), out to beat the blues caused by the cold and the recession. My neighbour proved to be quite entertaining and chatty. She was full of beans and as spry as a 76-year-old could be. She was surprised at my interest in cathedrals and regaled me with stories of her life during World War II.

We reached our destination around midday. Ely Cathedral was founded as a monastery in 673 by St Etheldreda, a Saxon princess from East Anglia. Destroyed by the Danes in 870, the monastery was re-founded as a Benedictine community in 970. Work on the present building commenced in 1081 under Abbot Simeon. It became a cathedral, the seat of the Bishop, in 1109. Henry VIII closed the monastery in 1539, but it has continued to exist as a cathedral to the present day.

The cathedral dominates the low-lying countryside and wherever you go in Fen country, you only have to look up to see the ‘Ship of the Fens’. Its entrance is a graceful double Gothic archway. Once inside, on the floor beneath your feet is a labyrinth that was installed in the 19th century. Unlike a maze, there are no dead ends. If you walk the labyrinth, you will have walked the same distance as the height of the ceiling above. Walking a labyrinth is an ancient spiritual exercise; its twists and turns mirror the journey of life, with God at its centre.

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