Builders bustle around the chaotic worksite that is the Christchurch Cathedral, its full glory lost after the disastrous earthquake. Many of us mourn the damage to the building, but rarely think of what else was lost. Memories made within those walls tumbled down along with it, crashing to the earth, forgotten. Stories that were never told about the building will never be told; they are secrets that only the bricks and wood will remember. I stand on the back of a bench, peering over the fence at what’s left of the cathedral. The curiosity is hard to contain; I wonder how many people once wandered those wooden corridors. The windows are messily boarded up, leaving no space for much-needed sunlight to grace the scarred walls. One day, quite far in the future, more people will stroll up and down the corridors again. Until then, the cathedral will sleep, as if in hibernation, as workers patch up its wounds.
This essay was highly commended in the Tamariki category of the 2022 Warren Trust Awards for Architectural Writing.
Photo: The damaged Christchurch Cathedral forms a backdrop for the Godley statue, from iStock.