These memories, for the most part so unhappy, have, however, nothing to
do with the Pilgrims' Way. No memory of that remains at all amid all
the dismal wretchedness of to-day, until one comes to the "Thomas a
Becket" public-house at the corner of Albany Road. This was the site of
the "watering of Saint Thomas":
A-morwe, whan that day bigan to springe,
Up roes our host, and was our aller cok,
And gadrede us togirde, alle in a flok,
And forth we riden, a litel more than pas
Unto the watering of seint Thomas.
The "watering of St Thomas" was a spring dedicated to St Thomas, and
it came to be the first halting-place of the pilgrims. It is still
remembered in the name of St Thomas's Road close by, and not
inappropriately in the tavern which bears St Thomas's name. It was
here that the immortal tales were begun:
And there our host bigan his hors areste,
And seyde; Lordinges, herkneth, if yow leste.
Ye woot your forward, and it yow recorde
If even-song and morwe-song acorde,
Lat see now who shal telle the firste tale.
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