When I first moved to London after university in 2000, the skyline looked rather like the old Thames Television ident: St Paul’s Cathedral, Tower Bridge and a great deal of sky.
There was no Shard. There were no enormous glass buildings resembling electric razors, walkie-talkies or cheese graters. St Paul’s stood proudly above the city, rather than peering between office blocks and asking, “Excuse me, is there still a cathedral here?”
Today, I can see the Shard from the end of my road. If I walk one street up, look to the left of a housing block and peer very carefully down the side of it, I can just make out a sliver of St Paul’s dome.
It is extraordinarily close.
Naturally, I had never been inside.
That changed when my best friend from university, Alan, came over from the west coast of Ireland to spend a couple of nights with Dr Thomas and me.
Alan is training to become a Church of Ireland minister, so when he announced, “James, I want to go into St Paul’s Cathedral,” it seemed discourteous to suggest John Lewis instead, even though Alan does have a penchant for soft furnishings.
I booked our tickets and decided that, while we were there, we should climb to the famous Whispering Gallery.
It is important to note that this decision was made online, while seated.
If You Seek His Monument
St Paul’s is magnificent.
We wandered beneath the great dome before descending into the crypt, where we saw the memorials and tombs of figures including Nelson, Florence Nightingale and the architect of St Pauls - Sir Christopher Wren.
Wren’s resting place is marked by a simple inscription with a wonderful message: if you seek his monument, look around you.
That stayed with me.
What we leave behind is not simply what is written about us. It is what we make, what we create, what we give and what remains standing because we were here.
A profound thought.
Unfortunately, it was immediately followed by 528 stairs.
The Tour Before the Ordeal
Our visit began gently enough with a tour of the cathedral library, where we saw extraordinary books and treasures.
We were then shown the spectacular spiral staircase featured in Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban.
This brought my vertigo on beautifully.
We were also told not to touch the balustrade because conservation work was taking place. This was excellent news for everybody except me, because my preferred approach to heights is to grip the nearest solid object until either the danger or my fingerprints disappear.
Next, we saw Christopher Wren’s enormous wooden model of the cathedral. It was created in such astonishing detail that, had Wren died before the building was completed, others could have continued his work by following the model.
Then the tour ended.
And the climb began.
The Whispering Gallery: 257 Steps
The Whispering Gallery is reached after climbing 257 steps.
Ahead of us was a group of schoolchildren, bounding effortlessly upwards. Children treat 257 stairs as an amusing warm-up. Adults treat them as an opportunity to reconsider every decision they have made since breakfast.
By the time I reached the gallery, my heart was making enquiries about alternative accommodation.
I sat down, gathered myself and eventually began walking around the inside of the dome.
A lovely member of staff explained that you do not make a tiny, theatrical whisper into the wall. You speak towards it, and the sound travels around the gallery.
It worked.
After wanting to experience it since childhood, I had finally heard the famous acoustics of the Whispering Gallery.
That alone should have been enough.
It was not enough for Alan.
“Let’s go to the Stone Gallery,” he said.
The Stone Gallery: 376 Steps
The Stone Gallery is 376 steps above the cathedral floor and runs around the outside of the dome.
I reasoned that some fresh air might do me good, forgetting that fresh air is considerably less relaxing when it is waiting for you halfway up the London skyline.
Still, I took my time and made it outside.
And it was glorious.
I could see the Thames, Tower Bridge and London stretching away in every direction. With the horizon in front of me and solid stone beneath my feet, I began to feel almost normal.
Then Alan looked upwards.
“We’ve come this far,” he said.
These are among the most dangerous words in the English language.
The Golden Gallery: 528 Steps
The Golden Gallery sits at the very top of the dome, 528 steps above the cathedral floor.
There are no lifts.
The final part of the climb involves exceptionally steep and narrow spiral staircases twisting upwards between the cathedral’s two domes.
The climb is not recommended for anyone with vertigo, a fear of heights, claustrophobia or pre-existing medical conditions.
Finally, a list on which I am comprehensively represented.
Up we went.
The staircase narrowed. The iron steps spiralled. My heart raced. I came very close to screaming, although I attempted to disguise this as thoughtful ecclesiastical breathing.
At several points, I asked myself why I was doing it.
But step by step, slowly and rather noisily, I kept going.
And then I reached the top.
I stepped outside onto the Golden Gallery, 528 steps above the cathedral floor, with the whole of London spread out beneath me.
I had done it.
Something Huge
I had achieved something huge.
Not because the stairs had become less frightening. They absolutely had not.
I had achieved it because I kept going while I was frightened.
Sometimes courage does not look particularly heroic. Sometimes it is breathless, clinging to an iron staircase and muttering, “Oh, for goodness’ sake, Alan.”
We often imagine that courage means being entirely unafraid. But perhaps courage is simply deciding that fear is allowed to come with us, provided it does not get too choose to where we stop.
For me, that meant climbing all 528 steps to the top of St Paul’s Cathedral.
And sometimes, after conquering your vertigo and climbing to the top of one of the most famous buildings in the world, the only sensible thing to do is sit down and get your knitting out.
So that is precisely what I did.
There I was, knitting at the top of St Paul’s Cathedral while London carried on 528 steps below.
Christopher Wren left behind a cathedral.
I left behind no dropped stitches.
And after that, I realised I'd become my late mother.
James McIntosh — the one-man band that is McIntosh. Dr Thomas was busy at work and extremely glad he did not have to make the climb.
